


I'll make this feel like home

by thewolvescalledmehome



Series: Home [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jon is a foundling, Slow Burn, sansa is an artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-04 18:16:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 116,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: Sansa Stark was said to resemble her mother in more than just looks. She was said to be the Stark child with the most Tully blood--the only Stark child that didn't have a habit of taking in strays. That is, until Robb brings home his friend Jon Snow for winter break.





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is probably going to be a very large fic. I have about 50k words right now and I'm not near done with it.

He was late. Again. Sansa sighed. Her older brother seemed to always be running late. Instead of calling him a third time, she sat on the frosty grass and sketched on her exposed forearm in marker. She knew she probably shouldn’t—her parents disapproved of tattoos and she would be heading home for winter break as soon as her brother showed his face.

When she heard footsteps approaching, she thought it was Robb. Capping the marker, she shot up and glared at where the footsteps were coming from.

“About damn time you sh—oh! Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you were my brother,” she explained, feeling her checks flush.

The man she thought was her brother offered her what passed as a smile and she sat back down to resume her design. Sansa thought the man would continue on to his own ride, but once he was on the same side of the car as her, he leaned against it. Sansa finished the design on her arm and put the marker away. Instead, she pulled out her sketchbook and pencil. The man paid her no attention so she found her panic fleeting and decided to draw the man instead.

He was leaned against her brother’s car in a black pea coat and some form of white collared shirt underneath—a small triangle of the collar was exposed between the upturned pea coat collar. His chin covered in dark brown scruff. His brown backpack strap was twisted on his shoulder. He had white headphones in and he was looking at the device in his hand. His brown curls were messy and fell in between the nape of his neck and the pea coat collar. Sansa almost giggled as she drew the little crease of focus between his brows—she was thankful he had earbuds in.

Sansa had only gotten a rough outline done and was starting in on his eyes when a bag dropped own beside her.

“So sorry I’m late, I was saying bye to Jeyne,” Robb apologized, holding his hand out to help her up. She snapped her sketchbook closed before he could peek at her sketch of the man at the end of the car. “You been waiting long?” he asked, and Sansa was about to answer before she realized he was looking at the man she had just been drawing.

“No, I’ve only been here a few minutes.” _Was that all?_ It had felt like an hour. “I think your sister has been though. Thought she was going to bite my head off when she thought I was you.” Sansa felt her cheeks color again. _He knew who I was?_

“I’m sorry, Sansa,” Robb apologized again, loading their bags into the trunk of his car. It was at that moment something Robb had said before registered with her, and a text she had gotten from her mother a week before popped back into her mind.

“Jeyne isn’t coming with us?” Sansa asked.

“No? She’s going to her parents’ for break. She said she might come up after the holidays though.” Sansa frowned in confusion.

“But Mum texted and said you were bringing a friend home for break…” Both men looked at her then, like she was missing the obvious, which she realized she was. “Oh, _he’s_ your friend. All right. Sorry. Hi, I’m Sansa Stark, I’m Robb’s younger sister,” she introduced herself, sticking her hand out to the dark haired man.

“Jon Snow,” he nodded, shaking her hand. “Cool tattoo,” he commented, indicating to the bit of black that was peeking out from her jacket sleeve. She yanked it down quickly, huge eyes focusing on Robb.

“It’s marker. Don’t tell Mum and Dad.” Robb chuckled as he finished putting everyone’s bags in the trunk and started towards the driver’s seat.

“Sorry Sans, but you’re in back this time. Jon gets shot gun,” he announced. Sansa didn’t bother to argue, as she knew he would win and it really wasn’t worth it. Plus, if she sat at the right angle and Robb drove slowly enough, she might be able to finish her sketch. “How were finals, Sansa?”

Sansa replied, telling him how she was sure she did well in most of her classes, but she wasn’t sure about how she did on Chemistry, she was just glad that was the last science class she would ever have to take, assuming she passed it. She asked how his were, considering it was his first semester of graduate school. He enjoyed all of his classes, but he said writing the ten-page paper on the strategic use of animals in old battles was torture.

It was through that she found out Robb and Jon Snow were in the same graduate program, for history, because Jon was shocked that Robb struggled with that paper. Robb said Jon had it easier, considering his topic was the history of bastard swords and significant instances where they have helped win battles. Sansa thought they both sounded incredibly boring and hard to get ten pages worth. It was at that point she went back to her sketch, working both from memory and from the profile in front of her. It made the five-hour drive back to Winterfell much quicker.

It wasn’t until they reached the town that Sansa put away her sketchbook and learned between the front seats, in a way that reminded her so much of her younger sister.

“So, Jon, are you staying with us for all of winter break?” she asked. Robb answered for him.

“Yep.” The tone of Robb’s voice made her lean back and watch the scenery of her hometown pass instead.

She’d missed it. She had been here in August, before the semester had started, but she missed it. It was so different from KLU, where it rarely snowed and was almost always sunny. All of the colors at KLU were bright—even the tans. The colors of Winterfell were always muted, like they were covered in fog or frost, which they more than likely were. It was home though.

After eighteen years of longing for the sun and heat of the south, two weeks into her first semester she missed the cold. She missed the layers she had to wear to keep warm, the way it felt to wake up in the morning and have the cold hit your skin as soon as you removed yourself from the bed. She missed the small businesses and how you could walk everywhere. How everyone knew everyone else. She missed her family, even her little sister who was obnoxious. She had yearned for the large city when she applied for KLU, but after spending a year and a half there she wondered if smaller towns weren’t a better fit for her. But she realized it made going home for winter and summer breaks all that much sweeter.

Sansa had been so wrapped up in watching the town blur by she hadn’t even realized when they pulled into the driveway and she was the only one left in the car. She couldn’t help but smile as her family came running out the front door of their house. _They must have been watching, waiting for us_ , she thought, as her mum came running out first, followed by her sister and two younger brothers, and finally her father. Her sister, Arya, leapt right past her for Robb, and she heard her brusque _who’s this then?_ that was no doubt directed towards Jon Snow. Sansa was about to scold Arya for asking so rudely, forgetting that Arya was now seventeen and she was nineteen, but her mother’s hug knocked the words away.

“Next semester you’re coming home for more than just winter and summer break. A whole semester is far too long. We’ll drive down for a week. I don’t like going months without seeing my children,” her mother whispered, holding her tightly. Sansa murmured agreements, though she doubted she would be home any more often next semester—the drive was just too far and plane tickets were expensive. Finally, her mother released her, only to throw her arms around Robb and no doubt say the same things. Just as she was able to breath her two little brothers jumped up on her, clinging tight.

“Oh, you guys are too old for this. Or I am,” she muttered, trying to put the twelve year old and eight year old down. They agreed, deciding Robb was a better target anyway, and attacked from behind. Her father was next, who gave her a quick, tight hug and a peck on her hair.

“Welcome back, Sansa,” he muttered before releasing her. She smiled; her father’s embrace was something else she had missed. It was finally at that point that she was allowed into the house, for everyone had moved on to Robb and were introducing themselves to Jon Snow.

Smiling to herself at the joy of being home, she took her bags up to her room to start unpacking. That was her intention at least, but once she saw the bed of her childhood she was curling up on top of it, pulling the quilt made of childhood memories around her and slipping into a peaceful sleep.

 

* * *

 

She was sure she had slept for hours when Arya came barging in, yelling something about a hat and potatoes.

“What?” Sansa asked groggily, sitting up slowly. Arya had perched herself on Sansa’s desk and was flipping through an old notebook that was out. “Could you not, please?” Arya huffed and replaced the notebook.

“Mum wants you downstairs. She needs help peeling potatoes and she asked if we could use one of your hats to pull names for Secret Santa,” Arya explained, now picking up a box that Sansa couldn’t remember what was in it.

“Put that down. We’re doing Secret Santa?” She wasn’t sure if it was the sleep clogging her brain or if it was her irritation at Arya for going through her stuff before she’d even been back for a full day.

“Apparently. Something about since we’re all getting older we can handle getting less presents and give more.” That wasn’t very surprising, considering her parents were now paying two tuitions, and one of them was for graduate school. She liked the idea; she just worried about who would get her name. She hoped it was her mother, who would more than likely get her a nice cardigan, rather than the handmade picture frame made from Popsicle sticks she’d probably get if Rickon pulled her name. Or, gods forbid, Arya. She’d probably give Sansa socks. Her own socks, because she procrastinates and would forget until the very last moment. “So have you got a hat or not?”

“There’s one on top the wardrobe. Tell Mum I’ll be down to help in a few minutes, just let me change.” Arya nodding, plopping the hat on her head and racing out before Sansa could yell at her for wearing it. She had failed to shut the door behind her. Coming home was like reverting back to being fourteen. Sighing, Sansa finally removed herself from the comfort of her bed to shut the door so that she could change. What she had left KLU wearing wasn’t warm enough for the stonewalls of their old cottage. She shed her thin leggings and cardigan for flannel pajama pants and a hoodie. She made sure to pull the sleeves down enough so that the design she had drew on earlier wouldn’t peek out. Slipping into her slippers, she shuffled down to the kitchen where it seemed everyone had gathered. The only two missing were her youngest two brothers.

“Sansa, could you peel the potatoes please? They’re in the sink.” Sansa dutifully started peeling, listening to the conversation around her rather than joining in. Arya was sitting on the counter—she could never just stand, she always had to sit on something that wasn’t made for sitting; Sansa thought it was because she was the shortest and she felt a need to be tall—talking to Jon Snow about how to spell his name before scribbling it on a ripped sheet of paper and putting it in the hat. Robb was talking to their parents about his classes, explaining that paper he had complained about in the car. Her mother, Catelyn, was listening to everything much like Sansa was, peeling carrots on the other side of the sink.

“Choose,” Arya demanded, sticking the hat under her nose. Sansa dried her hand and stuck it in the hat, reaching for a piece of paper on the bottom. She figured Arya had done her parents’ names first and didn’t bother to shake the hat. She was wrong. When she unfolded the scrap of paper it said _Jon Snow_ in Arya’s chicken scrawl. Sansa made to drop the paper back in the hat and grab for another one, but Arya smacked her hand and skittered away with the hat, shoving it under Robb’s nose next.

Sansa tried to hide her disappointment and put the paper in her pocket. How was she supposed to get something for Jon Snow? She’d known him no more than five hours, and most of that she spent drawing him, not listening to a word coming from his mouth. She wondered if Robb would help her shop for him when they went into town next. Realizing that it might be beneficial to start listening now, she tried to focus her attention on what Jon was talking to Arya about.

“…the swords were made differently, depending on the type of steel used. There are a few different types, which resulted in varying strengths of swords. There’s regular steel…” Arya’s eyes were bright with wonder, and Sansa found her thoughts drifting.

She couldn’t listen to the different types of steel—that was almost as bad as being in a history course. _This is going to be hard_ , she thought with a sigh, finishing the last of the potatoes. Moving away from the sink, she put her hands in her pocket, thumb worrying the edge of the paper. Sansa suddenly realized that if Jon’s name was in the hat, then he must’ve gotten someone’s name. He would probably have an equally hard time finding a present for someone he barely knows—unless he got Robb.

_Maybe Robb would trade with her…_

Once supper was ready and the two younger boys were discovered and confined to the dining room, they all shuffled awkwardly around the table, not sure who to put Jon next to. Catelyn liked their family dinners to be nice, polite events with no drama and no awkwardness, so she thought the best way to seat everyone was to put Jon between Robb and Sansa, because Sansa was quiet and polite and never made a fuss, with Arya across from him since they seemed to have a lot to talk about. Plus, if Jon was able to maintain a conversation with Arya that may distract her from upsetting the dinner. Sansa didn’t think that was likely, though, considering the face Arya made at her when she sat down.

The side of Jon Snow she had been seated on was the same as when she sat against Robb’s car earlier, the side she had been trying to draw. She wished she had her sketchbook so she could finish filling in the details, but it had been banned from the dinner table many years ago. She settled for memorizing what she saw there without actually staring at him, especially since Catelyn was sitting across from her. The last thing she wanted was for Catelyn to think she was developing an attraction on the boy Robb brought home for all of winter break.

Catelyn wasn’t particularly fond of strays the way the rest of the family seemed to be. It must’ve been the Stark blood that it came from.

She remembered when they were young—she must’ve been twelve, Robb fifteen, Arya ten, Bran five, and Rickon must’ve just been born. Her father, Ned, had been on a trip up north, Sansa couldn’t remember if it was business or if it was fishing. He came home with five puppies. Catelyn was furious—Sansa knew Ned and her brothers and Arya were lobbying for a dog, singular, and Catelyn was considering. She thought a small dog would be nice, but she wanted to wait until Rickon was older, so that it wouldn’t be like having two babies in the house at once. Catelyn thought that was the end of the discussion. That had been at the start of summer, but at the end there were five puppies running amok in the house, plus baby Rickon. Ned said he found them on the side of the road on the way back from up north. They were in a sack on the side of the road, as if someone had intended to drop them into a river but chickened out at the last second.

“Well, I couldn’t very well just leave them there,” Ned told Catelyn as the four older children chased the puppies merrily around the yard. “They would’ve died.” Catelyn eventually relented, but that wasn’t the last stray that was brought home. Each time one of Sansa’s siblings brought home a new pet, a friend that was in obvious need of care and attention Catelyn got another line on her face, it seemed like.

Sansa shifted her gaze from the man next to her to Catelyn, counting the lines on her face and knowing who or what caused almost all of them. Sansa also watched the way Catelyn watched Jon and Robb, and Arya but she was always watching Arya because Arya always needed to be watched. Catelyn stared at Robb softly, but with intensity, the way mothers often when they haven’t seen their child in a long time. She looked at Jon Snow differently, with weariness, a cautious gaze, waiting for him to prove himself as another stray. Though him being there was proof enough, Sansa thought, considering if he was spending all of winter break with them instead of his own family.

Sansa tried again to tune into the conversation, listen to what Jon was saying, apparently replying to a question Ned asked him.

“Em, I’m on the fencing team. I keep asking Robb to come to a practice with us, but he rather learn about swordplay through textbooks than through actually doing it,” Jon was saying. Sansa couldn’t help but sigh again, _more swords_. _Did this man like anything other than swords?_ Maybe Arya should’ve gotten his name.

“You know how to fight with swords?” Arya exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her chair with excitement. _Gods._ “Could you teach me?”

“Why do you want to know how to fight with a sword? What use would that be?” Sansa couldn’t help but ask. It was directed at Arya, but Jon turned to her and answered.

“It’s just a form of exercise, the same way some people do yoga or lift weights. Fencing has more history, more connections then some of the other sports though, so some people, like me, prefer it,” he answered levelly. There was an awkward pause around the table.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Sansa started, face coloring.

“I know, I just thought I’d explain,” he reassured her, his face pleasant enough. The quiet lingered, only sound was the clink of silverware and the chewing of food. Sansa wished someone would say something though, because it was the awkward quiets like this that usually drove Arya to do something stupid and immature to break the tension.

“We don’t have plans for tomorrow right?” Arya asked, tapping her fork obnoxiously on the edge of her plate. She was gearing up for something, Sansa could tell.

“No, we don’t. Why?” Ned answered slowly.

“Gendry’s band is playing at The Wolf’s Crown. Their set starts at nine,” Arya stated. There was no question in the two sentences. Catelyn and Sansa’s eyebrows rose to their hairlines and Robb and Ned’s mouths turned into curled down smiles. Jon Snow looked confused and Bran and Rickon were oblivious.

“The _Wolf’s Crown_? Really?” Ned clarified skeptically.

“You are _seventeen years old_ ,” Catelyn reminded at the same time, her voice stern and strained. Arya scowled. Sansa could hear Robb chuckling on the other side of Jon.

“You won’t be admitted. You have to be eighteen to get in the Wolf’s Crown,” Robb said with a bit of laughter escaping with the words. Arya glared at him, almost daring him to let that stop her. Sansa selfishly hoped her parents would say no, of course not.

The first Saturday back her and some friends always went there for drinks to get caught up. She was fine with Gendry’s band playing—they were actually quite good, but if Arya went Sansa would get stuck babysitting her all night.

“Gendry cleared it with the owner. S’long as I don’t drink, they don’t care. They’ll give me some special wristband to make sure I won’t be served. It glows in the dark.” Sansa heard what must’ve been Jon’s quiet laughter join Robb’s, and if she wasn’t mistaken, her father’s. Catelyn sighed heavily. If Sansa were Arya her eyes would be pleading, making grandiose promises and offering to pick up extra chores or babysit one of the younger siblings. Arya just stared at them, waiting for one of them to say no, but the flatness of her face said that no one was telling her no.

“I don’t see why not. Promise you’ll stay near the stage, where Gendry can keep can eye on you, okay? Don’t go wandering off,” Ned said calmly. Catelyn’s hand dropped to the table. _She’s going to say no_ , Sansa realized, _and Arya’s going to throw a fit._

“I’m going there tomorrow with Jeyne Poole and Margaery. I can keep an eye on her,” Sansa offered, because she was scared of where this would go if she didn’t. Arya shot her a look of deep irritation instead of one of gratitude. Robb learned around Jon to look at her.

“Margaery? I thought she lived less than thirty minutes from KLU. What’s she doing this far north?”

“She’s taking a three week winter design course. It started the week before exams. She’ll be up here until right before the holidays.” Robb looked more confused. “Winter fashion design, not a winter term,” she clarified. When she turned back towards her parents, she saw Ned giving her a smile. Catelyn looked exasperated.

“I don’t _need_ you keeping an eye on me. I can keep an eye on myself,” Arya huffed.

“How were you going to get there, Sansa?” Catelyn asked. Sansa suddenly felt like she was younger than Arya. Catelyn wouldn’t be concerned with Arya getting there and back, but with Sansa there were always more questions. _Who are you going with? Who’s going to be there? How are you getting there? What time will you be home?_ Arya always got her way, and Sansa had to submit a list of reasons why she should be allowed to do something other people her age were allowed to do with no questions asked. “You’re not walking, it’s much too cold.”

“I’ll drive her. Jon and I were going to go to The Steel Paw anyway. We can drop them off on the way,” Robb offered. This time it was Sansa who scowled at a sibling who was just trying to be helpful. It was just like Robb to come swooping in and save her when she didn’t need saving. Jeyne could have driven her, if Sansa asked.

“Thanks, Robb,” Sansa offered with a smile that she didn’t mean. Arya rolled her eyes dramatically and tossed her fork on the plate.

The rest of dinner, the clean up, and the following morning went without incident. The Stark children quickly fell back into their old rhythm of all five of them being home, and Jon Snow quietly slipped into it, causing no interruption. Sansa could tell how much her parents loved having everyone home, how the table was full at breakfast and how Arya ended up sitting on the floor with Rickon when they were hanging out in the living room because there weren’t enough spaces for all eight of them to sit with comfortable spaces between them. Sansa enjoyed it too, even Arya. They were like her comfort blanket and she felt invincible when she was home.

 

* * *

 

“Sansa! We’re leaving,” Robb yelled up the stairs. Whipping her hair up, she clattered down the stairs. Jon, Robb, and Arya were waiting for her by the door, beanies pulled low and scarves wrapped tightly. Arya rolled her eyes, just at Sansa’s presence, and Sansa stuck her tongue out in response before she remembered she was nineteen.

The guys, mostly Robb, gave the girls reminders as they drove to the Wolf’s Crown. _Don’t leave your drink unattended. Go to the bathroom in a pack—I know we tease you for it, but it’s safer. Arya, stay where either Gendry or Sansa can see you at all times. Don’t wander off. We’ll be back to pick you guys up. Don’t leave with anyone else._ Arya mimicked him from behind the seat, and Sansa ignored him. She was nineteen, she’d been going to pubs for over a year now and nothing bad had ever happened. She could take care of herself. And so could Arya.

The guys dropped her and Arya off, who promptly disappeared behind the stage. Sansa found Jeyne and Margaery at a corner table close to the bar that still offered them a view of the stage. They had already ordered her a drink.

Their conversations started off as recapping the last semester, introducing Margaery to Jeyne, who went to school much closer to home then Sansa had. Margaery was majoring in fashion and Jeyne was still undeclared. She took several different introduction classes to see what she might be interested in doing. Sansa told them about the art classes she’d been able to take so far, and which ones would eventually be required with her Fine Arts major. They talked of classmates, professors, teachers’ assistants, and assignments. From there they moved on to making up stories about the people sitting around them, the way Sansa and Jeyne did all throughout their childhood and adolescence. They did the people sitting at the bar, the group of lads near at the table near theirs, who spoke as if they were southroners, the group of locals Sansa and Jeyne had probably been at school with at one point, the table of girls who sounded like they were from farther north, and the three separate tables of people who looked like they were on a date.

That led them into a discussion of lads; the cute ones in their classes, in their dorms, and Margaery asked what Robb was up to. Sansa gave her an Arya worthy look. By that point they were three drinks in and Sansa was pretty sure that Gendry’s band would be going on soon, since Arya reappeared near the stage. It was Arya popping back up that made her think to ask her two best friends the question that had been irritating her.

“So we’re doing Secret Santa at my parents’ house for Christmas this year, and I got Jon Snow, the friend my brother’s brought home for winter break. What am I supposed to get him?” Sansa asked, sipping her drink innocently. Margaery’s eyebrows shot up, her lips shifting to the side and upwards. Jeyne giggled.

“Well, what does he like?” Jeyne asked.

“I dunno, swords it sounds like.” Margaery’s drink shot out of her nose. “No, no, he studies ancient swords and warfare. He’s on the fencing team!” Sansa clarified, her face turning red.

“So buy him a sword,” Margaery suggested, in a suggestive manner. Sansa shot her a look. Jeyne giggled again. “Ask Robb what he likes. I’m sure he’d be helpful. You’ve got what, two weeks? If you figure it out soon enough you’ve still got time to order something if you need to.” Sansa agreed but didn’t feel like the conversation had gotten her any closer to knowing what to get this man she didn’t know for Christmas.

It wasn’t long after that that Gendry’s band came on, him on the center of the stage with a guitar and a mic stand, the rest of the band behind him. Arya was stood in the second row, almost dead center, directly in Gendry’s line of sight. She was jumping to the beat, fist in the air, chin raised high and mouthing the lyrics back to him. They played fast songs, loud and rocky, for nearly the entire first half of the set. The last song before they took their break was slow, and Gendry asked for all the lighters in the air. Not cell phones, lighters. The lights changed to a pale blue, cut through with the yellow and orange flames of the lighters. The song was beautiful. It was the first one where she actually listened to the lyrics. Before she even realized, Sansa’s sketchbook was out and she was sketching out the scene in pencil, the sea of lighters, Gendry with his eyes closed and lips pressed to the mic, Arya’s lighter up there as well (Sansa didn’t know where she got a lighter), eyes locked on Gendry and mouth moving. She left the other bodies as just shapes, adding no detail but the lighters: only Gendry and Arya got defined as more. At the top of the page she sketched what she was pretty sure was the title of the song. Jeyne and Margaery didn’t question her pulling the sketchbook out, they were used to it. The only place it had been banned so far was the dinner table. She was thankful for that, she didn’t know how to capture the beauty around her without it.

When she was done Margaery slid the notebook away from her to study the picture. Her sharp features softened while her eyes traced the lines that covered the page. Sansa was eager to get home and fill it with color. She was used to Margaery flipping through her sketchbook, it didn’t bother her, but she had forgotten the subject of the pervious page until Margaery turned to it and made a risqué gesture before showing which page she was on to the rest of the table, giving Sansa bug eyes.

“Who’s this then?” It was the same question Arya had asked of the same man.

“Jon—the one Robb’s brought home. He’s the one I’ve got to buy a present for. That was yesterday when we were waiting for Robb. I thought he was just some random lad in the lot. I didn’t realize I was about to be in a car with him for five hours. Or he’d be spending all of winter break down the hall from me.” Jeyne leaned over to look at the drawing with Margaery.

“Seven hells, give him yourself for Christmas. Wrap yourself down and stick yourself under his covers instead of under the tree,” Margaery offered, eyebrows dancing. Sansa’s entire being flushed red.

“Margaery!” Sansa exclaimed.

“Gods, is that him now?” Jeyne asked, who had the best view of the bar. All three women turned to look, just in time to see Jon Snow and Robb leave the bar with their drinks, looking for a place to sit. “I thought you said he’d be at the Steel Paw.” Sansa shrugged helplessly; Robb didn’t indulge her in all his whims or decisions on which pub to attend and when.

“Why didn’t you mention him when we asked if there were any lads in your life?” Margaery demanded, hand slamming down with excitement.

“He’s not _in_ my life! He’s in my life in the same way as Robb!” Sansa explained a little too loudly. Robb and Jon Snow had taken a table near enough to them that they heard Sansa use her older brother’s name and turn. The table the three women were sitting at was large enough to seat five, and Robb didn’t feel the same way about hanging out with his sister as Arya did, so the men joined them.

The sketchbook was hurriedly stashed in Sansa’s bag, introductions were made, and when Robb offered to buy the next round, Sansa decided to make the best of this, vowing to do her best to listen to very damn word that left Jon Snow’s lips.

They talked until Gendry’s band retook the stage. Sansa was vaguely irritated that she couldn’t have her sketchbook out—she wanted to draw Jon’s hands and his lips. She couldn’t stop watching his hands. They were large and pale, with bony knuckles and long fingers. One hand always seemed to be touching the other, in the way he held his beer bottle to the way he put them on the table. She really wanted to try drawing his lips when he smiled right before he laughed. His lips turned down instead of up and it almost looked like a pout or a grimace, but with the light in his eyes you knew it was a smile. She wondered if he would be up for modeling for the life drawing class she would be taking in the spring semester. _I could get him a job for his Christmas present. Where he gets to pose naked in front of a bunch of people._ Sansa sighed. That wouldn’t work either.

It was nearly one in the morning by the time they got home, having to take fifteen minutes to drag Arya out of the backstage area, promising she would see Gendry again soon enough. Sansa said good night to everyone in the kitchen and went to her room.

She sat at her desk, trying to draw that smile and his hands but it wasn’t working. _Maybe if we’re all sat around the living room tomorrow I can try again_ , she thought. She decided to grab her coloring pencils and headed down to the living room to color in the sketch she’d done of Gendry on stage. She preferred to do her coloring of sketches in the living room because the coffee table was the exact right height for her to work without bending her back and the lighting was much brighter. After making a mug of tea for herself she settled down, colors spread about the coffee table, sketchbook in the center, and started.


	2. Jon

Jon Snow had intended to go to bed when he and the older Stark kids got back to from the pub. He went to the spare room the Starks had given him to change into his pajamas—flannel pants and a hoodie, feet bare—but he and Robb had taken a couple rounds of shots in between their beers at the Steel Paw before joining Robb’s sister and her friends at the other bar, where they had a few more beers. He knew if he didn’t have some water he would wake up with a dry, terrible tasting mouth and probably a headache, so he went to get a glass of water from the kitchen, hissing when his feet hit the cold wood of the stairs.

He tried to be quiet; he knew the Stark parents slept on the first floor, in a room off the kitchen, whereas all the children slept upstairs. He was about to go back up when he noticed the overhead light in the living room was on. Jon stepped in to turn it off, not looking into the room, just flicking the switch.

“ _Ah!_ Heeyy,” a voice whined from within the room. Jon flipped the light back on quickly, jumping a bit at the noise. He had thought he was alone. Once flipping the light back on, he realized that sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch, was Robb’s sister—the one who they had sat with at the bar, the one with reddish hair, the one who had been waiting for Robb with him. Sansa was her name.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” he stuttered out, his heart slowing down. “I saw the light on, and I didn’t think anyone was down here.” He stepped around the couch to sit on the arm, to the left of the girl on the floor. In front of her was what must be a sketchbook, the page half filled with color. He couldn’t make out what was actually on the page and he didn’t want to look too closely, in case it was something private.

“It’s all right. Did you need something?” she asked, turning away from her project to face him.

“I was just getting water. I haven’t had that much to drink in a while,” he explained, showing her the glass for proof. Sansa nodded.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Sansa turned back to the sketchbook and continued working. She didn’t say anything to him, but he stayed to watch, just for a few minutes he told himself.

In truth, he didn’t want to go back to the guest room. It was a nice enough room, warm and comfortable, but it was just so obviously a guest room and impersonal. The desk was what bothered him the most, he thought. The only things on it were the several books he had brought and the little slip of paper from Secret Santa that had the name _Arya_ written across it. His desk at his apartment was cluttered—overflowing with papers, books, notebooks, pens, and a handful of small pieces of bone fragments he found when one of his undergraduate classes had taken a trip to the far north, looking for evidence of a culture they were studying. He didn’t like empty spaces. And he didn’t like being alone.

When he didn’t get up when he told himself he was going to, he shifted to sit on the couch properly, tucking his bare feet under the blanket left there. He wasn’t really watching what she was doing, more so watching the motion of her hand as it danced across the page. There was something soothing about it, like watching flames dance in a fire.

“Do you know if you and Robb have plans this week?” Sansa asked abruptly, turning to face him again. She had put her colors down and her hands sat in her lap. Jon had started at the sound of her voice.

“We were going to take a hike through the Wolf’s Wood before the holidays, but that’s it. And I don’t think we were going to leave for a few days yet. We have to get some supplies and get our Secret Santa gifts all ready,” he explained. It was the longest conversation they had had without someone else contributing their own voice. She nodded again.

“I was hoping he could take me into town this week so I could do my Secret Santa shopping as well. I’d like to go as early as possible, in case I need to order something,” Sansa answered back, her nose crinkling as she spoke about Secret Santa.

He wondered what name she got. Jon almost asked her for an idea for his own Secret Santa gift, for Arya. He had an idea but he wanted to run it by someone, receive some validation that it was a good idea and something the younger Stark girl would enjoy. Something told him Sansa was not the best judge on what Arya would like as a Christmas gift though. He waited for her to say more or turn back to her work but when she didn’t he stood, readying to excuse himself and return to bed. Just when his feet hit the floor, hissing again, she spoke.

“Do you play any card games? My hand is cramping.”

“No, I don’t, sorry,” he started quietly, feeling slightly embarrassed at not knowing any. The raise in her eyebrows was the only inclination that she had heard what he had said. She didn’t question it, tease him, or show any shock on her face. After a second, her face lit up and she pulled a deck of cards from one of the baskets under the coffee table.

“That’s all right. I can teach you. Come sit,” she implored, closing the book and moving her materials off the table before she began to shuffle the deck. After hesitating for half a heartbeat, he took his place opposite her, placing his cup to mirror her mug on the table, and sat patiently while she demonstrated how to play the game. Once she was sure he understood the rules, they began.

He enjoyed playing the game more than he thought he would. He was sure it was a game from her childhood, meant for children, but it was actually fun. The problem was that there wasn’t much talking involved, or much thought. It was reacting to the cards down. Sansa moved on instinct, having played this game for many years, which left her brain free to make conversation as they played. She was easier to talk to than he expected.

Jon had been wary of her when he saw her sitting outside Robb’s car at KLU. He knew Robb had a sister at the university as well, and that she would be riding back with them, but he was expecting someone more like Robb. He realized he had been thinking someone like Arya would be waiting for them, not Sansa. When he thought of Robb’s sister, he didn’t think of a young woman, but that’s what Sansa was. A very feminine young woman, who had been dressed in the height of southroner fashion, who was angry at being made to wait, who looked high maintenance, with her pretty white coat and nicely done nails.

He tended to steer clear of women like her, mostly because if he didn’t he knew they would keep away from men like him. Something about them, of the version of Sansa he first saw, reminded him of a woman that tainted his childhood. That wasn’t what he was thinking when he was sitting across from her now though. He wasn’t worried about saying or doing the wrong thing, exposing too much of himself to someone. The woman across from him was easy to talk to, quick to laugh, and listened with the same face Robb did.

Nothing they shared was deeply profound, but it felt like it for Jon. He didn’t think before he spoke, the way he generally did when he spoke to women. There was no panicking feeling in his chest as they answered each other’s questions, no sweat beading on his body. Maybe it was the fact he knew this wouldn’t lead anywhere—that there was no flirtation, it was solely innocent, that made it so easy. Or maybe it was just Sansa.

She had been sharing a wild story about a professor who had accidently upended a bucket of blue paint all over himself, in front of the entire class, when he found himself asking what her major was, feeling like he should already know.            “Fine Art,” she answered, organizing the cards in her hand so they all faced the same way. He looked up quickly at that, surprised.

“You don’t look like an art major,” he blurted. Her hair was all one color, granted it was a bold red brown, it was a natural color, and it seemed that she dressed in either solid colors or calm patters, not the crazy bright swirls and geometrical shapes he had seen other female art majors dressed in. Her makeup was also subtle, for all Jon knew about makeup, and her hands were always clean of paint, clay, or charcoal.

“I know,” she laughed, instead of taking offense the way he expected her to. “I’m very plain compared to the other art majors.” Her smile wasn’t self-deprecating, and he could tell by the way she looked at him with a level gaze that she wasn’t fishing for compliments. She didn’t mean that she was lesser than the other Art majors; just that she came across as more understated than the rest of them.

From there Sansa started sharing funny stories of herself and her siblings when they were younger. Sometimes he would ask a question that would prompt one, and sometimes she just spoke, feeling that it was something he should know. He appreciated it. It gave him background to the people he would be spending the next month and a half with; it made him feel welcomed.

But every time she laughed he flinched inwardly. Her laugh was wonderful but it was loud, and he knew her parents were sleeping only two rooms away. He was scared of waking her mother, as mothers tended not to like him. He never knew of one that cared for him.

At some point during the game Sansa got up to heat up her mug of tea. Neither of them realized how long the game would go on for; Sansa claimed to have forgotten a single game could last so many hours. From the kitchen, she asked if he wanted anything—another glass of water, something to eat, tea? He told her no, wishing she wouldn’t talk so loud near her parents’ bedroom. She didn’t seem to think it would wake her parents, or she just didn’t care if they did. He wondered what it was like to not live in fear of a parental figure.

When Sansa sat back down, they thought they were very close to finishing the game. After three more rounds, the size of the deck they each held had changed—he was now winning when she had been so close before. They agreed to play a few more rounds, but if it switched again they would call it, which is exactly what happened. She started winning again so Jon just decreed that she had won. Sansa told him that maybe another night they could actually play to the end, if they started earlier than one in the morning.

Jon waited for her to empty her mug and put it in the dishwasher before they both headed up stairs. He winced very time his feet hit the cold floor and she giggled quietly, telling him he should either invest in slippers or start wearing socks around the house, instead of going bare foot. He told her she was probably right. Sansa scoffed at the probably. They said goodnight at her bedroom door, which was closer to the stairs than his. She said it through a yawn before entering her room and shutting the door behind her.

Jon continued to his own room, the guest room, shocked by how cold it was. Taking Sansa’s advice he donned a pair of socks before crawling into the bed, still in his hoodie. He was tired but not enough to fall asleep. Pulling out his phone, he was surprised to see it was past three in the morning, and he knew he should sleep. Instead he left his lamp on, opening a book, and began reading.

* * *

 

He was awakened what felt like only seconds after falling asleep by a knocking on his door. He could tell it was Robb that was saying his name through the wood and Jon grunted a response to allow Robb entrance. It was after the door was opened that Jon realized he had fallen asleep reading, thumb gone numb from holding his place, and the lamp still on.

“You look like shit,” Robb commented. Jon stuck his bookmark in the replace his thumb, placing the book next to the lamp he then turned off.

“Thanks,” he replied sourly. His head throbbed dully, the way it did when not getting enough sleep was combined with alcohol. Robb swatted at Jon’s feet, forcing Jon to pull his knees to his chest, making room for Robb to sit.

“Those beers hit you that hard?” Robb asked, squinting at Jon’s face.

“Need I remind you how many shots we took at the Steel Paw?” Jon retorted with a grimace before answering honestly. “I didn’t go to bed when we got back. Sansa asked if I would play a card game with her when I went down to get water,” he explained. Robb started laughing.

“I forgot to tell you. Sansa tends to stay up after going out. She’ll trap you into doing something for hours,” Robb told him with an apology. Jon was about to tell him that it hadn’t been that bad but they both heard Catelyn calling up the stairs then. “Better shower. Breakfast will be ready soon.” Robb headed out, leaving Jon to gather his things and shower as quickly as possible, not wanting to delay breakfast, and not wanting Catelyn angry with him. Or to give her a legitimate reason to be.

Jon barely felt more awake after his shower than he did before. He was quiet all through breakfast, though that wasn’t atypical of him. He was surprised to see how awake Sansa was, makeup on and hair done in some sort of half braid thing. She looked like she had gotten a full night of rest, eyes bright and not yawning. He wondered what she put in her morning coffee to be that alert.

After breakfast, which was cleaned up by Catelyn, Sansa, and a very angry Arya, Ned put on a documentary about some of the ancient castles that were built in the north. Robb and Jon drifted in to watch it with him, considering it was part of what they studied. Jon had brought a book down, to save himself and others from trying to make awkward conversation with him, but it sat unopened for most of the morning. After the kitchen was cleared the younger Stark children, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, were ushered to the table to work on homework as they still had a week and a half left of school before their winter break began. Jon wasn’t sure how much work any of them got done, with Arya’s complaining, and Rickon’s inability to sit quietly at the table for any length of time.

Catelyn sat herself in the armchair closest to the kitchen with a pile of yarn and needles. Jon watched her for a second, thinking that with her focus on the needles her face would slacken and she would appear less stern, more caring. He was wrong. Her creased brown and pursed lips went unchanged by her knitting, something he had previously considered to be a peaceful pass time.

He thought her face would change the way Sansa’s did when she sketched, but the same thing did not happen. Jon’s gaze shifted to Sansa then, sitting across the room from him on the floor, sketchbook balanced in her lap. She looked at peace, even joyous at times, when her lips would quirk up in response to something that appeared on her page. The face across from him helped him release the tension that built in his chest every time he thought about the face in the armchair with the knitting needles, the one that reminded him so much of the one from his childhood.

While Jon Snow sat watching the documentary, hearing Arya’s complaints about homework and how unfair it was that none of the older siblings had to do any, seeing Rickon take laps around the living room after every problem he finished, he wished it was the type of household he had been raised in; one full of siblings, other bodies, that could exist together while doing their separate tasks. At the same time, he wished that the Stark household, the Stark family, didn’t feel so much like a home—the home he never had.


	3. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this fic and verse Robert's Rebellion and the War of the Five Kings actually happen, but 500/600 years before, similar to the War of the Roses and our current time. None of them are technically decedents, we're just pretending all of those names are really popular, like William/James/Henry, etc.

Sansa hadn’t planned on sleeping in, not late, but she hadn’t expected to be woken up with her younger siblings that had to go to school by eight am. Arya was raging again, this time about the injustice that her, Robb, and Jon Snow got to sleep in—ideally—and didn’t have to go to school. That and the fact that Arya tended to play her music loudly in the shower, and Arya’s music was the loud and screaming type.

Sansa shoved her head under her pillow but that wasn’t anywhere near effective. Instead of getting up like she knew she probably should, she pulled the blankets up to her ears and just laid there in the warmth, the would-be quiet, not having to move or think or do anything. She could just exist in the warm and have the warm be all that existed. It was wonderful.

She waited to get up until she heard the front door shut, meaning that Ned, Arya, her younger brothers, and Catelyn had all left for the morning: Ned to work, the younger siblings to school, and Catelyn to her knitting club for the morning. She would be there until afternoon, after which she would meet up with some other mothers from Rickon’s school for tea until the school let out. Sansa was thankful today would be a day that her mother would be out of the house because it meant that Sansa could be out of the house as well.

After showering, she went down for breakfast, expecting to see one of the older boys awake but the lower level was completely empty. Feeling a surge of independence at being alone for once, she turned on the radio in the kitchen, loudly, and began to dance around, singing at the top of her lungs, while she fixed herself breakfast. Somehow, by the time she had a cup of tea ready, a bowl of cereal, and toast, she ended up leaning on the counter, arms flung wide, and belting out the last notes of the number, eyes squeezed shut. As the note was falling, a clapping sound began. Sansa fell back against counter in surprise. On the other side of the kitchen were Jon Snow and Robb, who had been clapping. Jon’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. Robb was laughing silently as well. Her face flared red as she scrambled down, turning the volume of the radio down. Gathering her food and tea, Sansa shuffled over to the table, hoping her brother wouldn’t start making jokes the way she knew Arya would if she saw.

Robb spared her, and the men went towards the kitchen to make themselves breakfast. She waited quietly for them to come to the table, eating her cereal and toast. She was hoping that Robb would be willing to take her to town today, for to look for Jon Snow’s Secret Santa gift. If she didn’t find anything today, she would have plenty of time to find something online and have it arrive before Christmas. She got a sick feeling in her stomach every time she thought about either not finding him something or not having whatever she ends up getting him here by Christmas. She would feel terrible if he were the only one without something under the tree. Sansa didn’t know much about the man—even from playing cards after they got back from the pubs, she realized he probably learned more about her than she did about him. They sat at the table then, Robb with eggs, Jon with toast, and both with coffee.

“Do you have plans today?” Sansa asked, holding the mug between her palms to warm them. The house was cold when there weren’t quite as many bodies in it.

“No. Why?” Robb replied, forkful of egg poised in front of his mouth.

“Can we go to town? I want to do my Christmas shopping before it gets too late.” Sansa was hoping that Jon would give her hints as to what to get him, if she followed him closely around any of the shops. Robb gave her a half shrug nod that she took for a yes.

She finished her tea while Jon and Robb finished their breakfasts before they headed upstairs to shower and get ready. Sansa went to her room while they got ready, pulling out her sketchbook. She studied the two pages worth of sketches she had done yesterday—one of Jon Snow’s lips and one of his eyes. She had to wait all day yesterday for him to do the smile where his lips turned down instead of up, the one she had really wanted to draw. She drew the way his eyes crinkled with that smile too, and she thought again about asking him to apply as a model for the art department. Sansa added more detail to one of the better sets of eyes, darkening his eyebrows, his stubble on the page of his lips. She flipped back to the sketch she had done of him last Friday, against Robb’s car, adding some more shading, cleaning up some lines. Even though the work she was doing was minimal, she got lost in it.

“Sansa? You ready?” Sansa jumped, quickly flipping the book shut, shoving it into her bag. Robb stood at her door, and Sansa couldn’t tell if he could see what was in it or not. She scrambled to join him, pulling on her bag and coat—not the white one she had worn to come to Winterfell, but the dark grey one she kept at home because it was never cold enough for it down at KLU. Jon was waiting for them at the door, wearing the same pea coat he had on when they drove up. She hadn’t realized it was the one he had worn to the pubs as well.

“Don’t you have a warmer jacket?” Sansa asked him, pulling the faux fur lined hood over her head. Jon shook his head. She wondered how he would survive the month in Winterfell with only a pea coat. _That’d be a good gift, if I could find one on sale. And knew his size_ , she thought. Though she didn’t know if he would be able to use it any other time than just the month he was spending with them.

Sansa was forced to the backseat again, not that it really bothered her, but Robb apologized anyway, because that’s how Robb was. Robb had asked her where she wanted to go first, and they both turned around to stare at her when she said she wasn’t sure. She really wanted to ask Robb for his opinion but she couldn’t do that when Jon was within earshot. Finally she just said that they could start at one end and work their way down the shops. Once they men agreed, she settled in to the back to look out the window again.

She loved the trees in the winter—the ones with the white bark and the ones that were white with no bark. She couldn’t count how many sketches she had of them in her sketchbooks from when she lived in Winterfell year round. That was before she got good at drawing people. Trees had been much easier to start with.

Once they passed the trees and started down the road to town Sansa’s thoughts turned to trying to figure out what to get Jon Snow for his gift. She knew Winterfell had a limited selection of shops, so what she’d be choosing from wasn’t the best, unless she figured out something great and got it ordered by that evening. If only she knew what he wanted.

The first shop was a fishing shop. She tried to follow Jon around the shop but nothing seemed to spike his interest. _Well if he’s from the South he probably doesn’t fish,_ she realized dully. The next several shops weren’t much better, full of tools and the like. Neither of them saw anything worth buying, and Sansa didn’t either.

After they passed a café they went into one of the clothing shops. Sansa drifted to the side with the big sweaters, watching Jon Snow wander on the other side. She saw him pick up a few things and look at them but it was in a bored way, not an interested way. She saw a few sweaters she thought would look good on him, but she didn’t know his size and something about that felt impersonal. When she turned towards one of the walls to look at what was hanging there she heard the bell over the door chime. She turned in time to see Jon disappear past the view of the window.

“Where’d he go?” she asked Robb, who was inspecting a nice cardigan in a royal blue.

“He wanted to go next door and see about getting something ordered for Christmas.” Sansa nodded, waiting for him to finish so she could take her moment before Jon returned.

“I have Jon for Secret Santa. What should I get him?” she whispered quickly, turning so she could see the door over Robb’s shoulder. Robb looked at her with an arched brow.

“Use your imagination. You’re creative. I’m sure he’d love anything you got for him,” he told her. Sansa scowled at him. “I can’t help you. Get to know him and you’ll think of something, I’m sure,” Robb added. Sansa didn’t think that was any better of an answer.

“I’ve only got a few weeks. I don’t have time to get to know him. Today’s probably the last day I can order something and know it’ll be here in time. Just point me in the right direction Robb.” Robb just grinned at her, taking the cardigan up in his arms, and heading towards the cash register. Sansa glowered after him, fiddling with the sweater in front of her.

Jon Snow came back in then, and she watched as he kicked his shoes against the mat, knocking the snow off. She remembered his bare feet from the other night, and went to the back of the shop where thick socks and slippers were. The socks and slippers were in ranged shoe sizes, which was helpful because she was guessing. She found a pair of slippers that were thick, with rubber soles, and that would cover his ankles as well. There was also a pack of thick wool socks with fuzzy insides. She bought both the slippers and the socks. If she couldn’t find anything else she could definitely give him that, and she knew he could use them for the next month at least.

After following them through the next few shops, Sansa was happy with her choice to buy the socks and slippers because it was appearing as if Jon Snow had no interest in anything Winterfell’s shops had to offer. It was the last shop, the one they spent the most time in, that it seemed the men found interesting. It was the bookshop.

Sansa wasn’t particularly fond of the place—it was full of old books that smelled funny, a smell that clung to her clothes after she left, and left her hands feeling grimy after touching any of the books in there. Jon didn’t seem to have that problem, as he trailed his fingertips over all the spines he was within reach of, something she thought looked like a loving caress. Sansa thought about getting one of the ones he looked interested in, only he looked interested in the whole store.

Once Sansa realized they would probably be there for a while, she climbed the stairs to the loft where the couches and armchairs were, pulling out her sketchbook. She started with the bookshelf that she could see between the rails of the loft, as it was full of knickknacks as well as books, making it more of a challenge. From her spot, she could also see Jon Snow and which bookshelves he seemed to linger near. More often than not, he was in the non-fiction section, looking at history books and maps.

There was one she could tell he enjoyed looking at, a huge map that hung between two windows—it probably would have stretched the length of the Stark dining room table if not past it. It was framed, and she could see that there was a price tag on it. She couldn’t see his face when he looked at it, but she could tell by the way he stood, the way he held his head that the map was somehow important to him.

When Jon went to checkout with the book he was buying, Sansa went to look at the map. She couldn’t tell where it was a map of, but the price looked outrageous. It was nearly two hundred dollars. Sansa sighed, looking at the map one last time, and followed Jon and Robb out of the shop.

It was early afternoon at that point, and they decided to go back to the café they passed for lunch. Robb paid for her, which was nice of him, but made her feel much younger than she was. While they ate, Robb asked if she’d found what she’d been looking for. She scowled into her sandwich.

“No. Did you find anything good for your Secret Santa?” Sansa asked, eyes flicking between both of them.

“I did, yeah,” Robb answered, his smile making him look more like Arya than he ever did. Sansa wondered whose name he pulled again. “What about you, Jon?”

“I think so. I put an order in at least, so I hope so,” Jon answered. Sansa thought they would be in the same boat, both struggling to find something for their Secret Santa, but apparently not. Apparently it was just her.

The men started planning their hiking trip then, Robb pulling a map out of somewhere, and a list of things they needed to pick up. It was all about rope and picks, snowshoes and food. It was all very boring. Once they finished their food, Robb folded up the map and list, putting them in his jacket pocket instead of his jeans, where he had pulled them from.

“We’re going to go to the sports shop. Do you want to come, or go searching some more? We’ll probably be a while, trying on snowshoes and all that,” Robb told her on their way out the door. Sansa paused, biting her bottom lip. She might find something for Jon there, but the sports shop also smelled worse than the bookstore, and was less comfortable.

“I’ll keep searching. I think I might actually have a lead on something,” she said, flipping her hood up and stuffing her hands in her pockets. She had an idea, but whether or not it was technically legal was a blurry line. “I’ll meet you guys at the art shop in an hour or two. Text me if you’ll be longer?” They nodded and headed off towards the sports shop. She waited until they were far enough away that they wouldn’t see where she was going, then headed for the bookstore again.

Once inside, instead of drifting, she went straight for that map Jon had spent so long in front of. The shop owner was behind the register, and her view of Sansa was blocked by a bookshelf if Sansa stood in front of the map. Pulling out her phone, Sansa opened her camera and took a shot of the map. She dragged over a chair then, climbing up and taking more focused pictures until she had the whole map.

She still wasn’t sure what it was a map of—it certainly looked old, and some of the town names looked like familiar versions of ones she knew. It had markings for battlegrounds, for rivers and castles that no longer existed. Sansa figured it might have been a map of Westeros, maybe a few hundred years ago, or more.

Once she had a clear enough picture of the whole map, she wandered around the history section, looking for one with a map similar to the one on the wall. After twenty minutes she found the same map but much smaller in a book about some war that went on for nearly twenty years—one that started as a rebellion but became a war about fifteen years later. She didn’t remember hearing about it ever, but the book looked interesting, for a history book. She bought it, partially because she felt bad about taking the pictures of the big map, but partially because she wanted to use the map for reference, incase her pictures didn’t serve.

Clutching the bagged book to her chest, she made her way to the art shop, a plan forming. In the art shop, she found a roll of thick paper, a thin tipped ink pen, several shades of yellow and brown water paints—plus brushes, and extra charcoal. After finding everything she thought she’d need, she wondered around for a while, looking for any other supplies she might need. Sansa picked up a few new coloring pencils, looking for more shades of grey. She spent so long in front of the pencil case, trying to remember the exact shade of Jon’s eyes, that that was where Jon and Robb found her. They both had large packs on their backs from the sports shop. “Are you about ready to head back?” Robb asked, staring at her arms full of paints, brushes, charcoal, and pens. They were holding the roll of paper for her behind the counter so she didn’t have to lug it around with her. She hesitated, staring for a moment at Jon’s eyes, trying to figure out which shades would blend to make that color.

“Yeah, just a second.” Sansa picked out four different shades and proceeded to the check out. “I also have the roll of paper back there,” Sansa told the girl behind the counter. Robb and Jon waited by the door, watching as all the art supplies were passed across and put in a bag. “Can one of you guys take the paper please?” Sansa had her arms full with the bag from the bookstore, plus the three bags from the art store. Robb’s eyebrows were halfway up his forehead, but he lifted the paper from behind the counter and led the way to his car that they had thankfully parked near by.

“So did you figure out what you’re doing for Secret Santa?” Robb asked, sounding a little winded at the weight of the paper roll plus the weight of the pack on his back full of hiking supplies.

“I did, yeah. The basement’s going to be off-limits for a while.”

Once they were back at the Stark cottage, after Robb carried Sansa’s paper down to the basement, the men disappeared into the trees that made up part of the backyard, testing all their new equipment. Sansa disappeared into the basement, setting up all of her art supplies on the floor, her brushes and the paints, the pen and charcoal, florescent lights shinning down. She tipped the paper to roll it out, but she found herself opening the book instead, turning first to the map, but then to the first page.

That was where her mother found her two hours later, curled against the wall, book prompt on her knees, halfway through it. The rebellion that started this war she was reading about was caused by a love triangle. It made it much more interesting than typical wars they learned about in school.

“Is that what you’ve been doing all day? Hiding the basement?” Catelyn asked, arms folded. Sansa’s head shot up, nearly hitting it on the wall behind her.

“No, I went shopping with Robb and Jon for Secret Santa. We’ve only been back for…two hours?” Sansa had to look at her phone to check what time it was. She thought it was much earlier.

“I’m starting dinner. Why don’t you wash up and come help?” Sansa nodded, tearing a scrap of paper from the roll to slide between the pages. She followed her mother up the stairs and into the kitchen, where Arya was sitting on the counter again, eating pizza bites off a pan. “Arya, I’m about to start dinner! I told you no, you couldn’t have a snack.” Arya looked up from the pan, eyes some odd mix of innocent and defiant. “You’re supposed to be watching Rickon. Where is he?”

“With Robb. Bran’s doing homework in his room,” Arya answered, mouth full of pizza. “I’m going to Gendry’s,” she added once she’d cleared the pan of food and jumped down.

“I’m starting dinner,” Catelyn repeated, staring dumbfounded at her youngest daughter.

“I just ate,” Arya shrugged.

Sansa slipped around to turn on the oven for her mother, trying to be as helpful as possible, in case a blow up happened between her and Arya again. She knew Catelyn would try to avoid it, especially with Jon Snow there. Catelyn didn’t believe in letting strangers seeing cracks. If her father were here, Arya may have asked instead of told, but he wasn’t, so she didn’t.

“He’s helping me with homework. I’ll be home before seven. Jon promised he’d help me with my history paper tonight.” Arya was out of the kitchen before Catelyn could say anything else. Sansa had started preparing a salad, quietly and methodically. She heard Catelyn breath harshly out of her nose before she took something red and frozen from the freezer.

They worked in an awkward silence until everything was ready or in the oven. Sansa figured if it was any other mother and daughter pair they would be talking, Sansa would be telling her about boys, about classes, about dreams, about her art, but that wasn’t the relationship she had with Catelyn. That wasn’t really the relationship any of them had with Catelyn. That was the relationship they all had with Ned. Sansa found herself looking forward to her father getting home so she could show him her idea for Jon’s Secret Santa gift.

Dinner was quieter than normal without Arya there, though Bran and Rickon had a few stories from school that day. Robb and Jon talked to Ned about their hike through the Wolf’s Wood that they were going on in a few days. Catelyn went through a list of things they needed to make sure they had before they left—warm enough socks, blankets, underwear and the like. Sansa was quiet until her dad asked her what she’d done that day.

“I went shopping for Secret Santa with Robb and Jon. Picked up some new art supplies too. I’m going to try a new style,” she admitted, thinking of the roll of paper and everything in the basement. And the book she was halfway through. “Have you heard of Robert’s Rebellion? It happened a few hundred years ago,” she found herself asking Ned. It was Jon’s head that lifted, that looked at her though.

“That’s the one that caused a full-fledged war later, right?” Ned asked, clarifying. Jon was nodding along.

“Did it really start because of a love triangle?” Ned shrugged and Jon nodded again.

“There are lots of theories about that. But yes, most people believe it was a love triangle rather than a kidnapping that history likes for us to believe. People believe the lady ran off with the prince, abandoning Robert and her family name. The historians think there’s a whole family line stemmed from Lyanna and Rheagar that’s been buried or hidden,” Jon explained. Sansa was intrigued. It sounded like some of the novels she liked to read. She wondered why they never taught that in school. She may have paid more attention in history then. “Where’d you hear about it?”

“I just saw someone post something about it online,” Sansa lied. When Jon’s face had turned back to his plate, Sansa smiled to herself. She’d seen the way his eyes had lit up while talking about the rebellion. If that’s what the map she was recreating was for, she was definitely in the right direction for what to get him for Secret Santa. She wondered if she should pass the book along with it too, since it was obviously a subject he loved. She wondered about the family line he mentioned—wondered if it would be in the book anywhere. She was eager to get back to it and as soon as Catelyn released her from cleanup duty, she was back downstairs.


	4. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Robb are nerds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a lot of people asking about the Stark kids' relationship with Catelyn, and I want to say that it is being done purposefully, it's part of the subplot. 
> 
> That being said there are a few things I can say:  
> 1\. Catelyn loves her children. Look at what she does in this chapter especially  
> 2\. Catelyn did not support the idea of Sansa going to KLU to study art  
> 3\. We are seeing Catelyn filtered through the thoughts of Sansa and Jon, so take things with a grain of salt
> 
> There will be more about Sansa and Catelyn in the next chapter.

Jon had packed the night before they were set to leave, everything set at the foot of his bed. They were supposed to leave at four in the morning, and Jon was kind of dreading the cold that would be greeting them. He was from the North—he was actually from farther north than Winterfell, but he hadn’t been past the Neck since before undergrad, besides the one trip he’d taken with his undergrad class. When he moved south he traded in his Northern winter coat, but now he wasn’t sure how his pea coat would survive the three-day hike.

He set his alarm for twenty minutes before they were supposed to leave, but something woke him up ten minutes earlier than he was supposed to. He wasn’t sure what pulled him out of sleep, he thought it might have been someone at the door, but it was three thirty in the morning and his room was still. The door was shut, and there were no sounds.

Jon lay in bed for a few minutes longer, enjoying the warmth, enjoying the feel of whatever dream he’d just been pulled from. He was in the perfect position—the most comfortable he’d ever been in a bed besides the one he bought himself, and that one wasn’t actually all that comfortable to begin with. He was curled on his side, one arm under his pillow, the spare pillow they’d given him tucked against his chest, other arm thrown over it. It was like sleeping with another body next to him. He almost wished it was—it would be warmer at least.

He stayed there until his alarm went off, at which point he flipped on the lamp and stared around the room, still trying to figure out what had woken him. Then his eyes landed on his backpack, the one that had been zipped shut when he went to bed the night before. It had been the only thing out besides his suitcase on the other side of the room, and the books on the desk. Now, sitting on top of his backpack, was a pack of socks. They had not been there the night before.

He was intrigued enough that he wasn’t concerned about how cold the floor would be, and he slid out of bed with no regrets. The socks were thick, the outer part was wool, and when he stuck his hand inside it was warm and fuzzy. There were three pairs in the package—enough to get him through the hiking trip, and an extra if one of the others got wet. He ripped open the cardboard binding and slid on the pair. It was like his feet were back under the four blankets on the bed. It was wonderful. Jon was sure that the thickness would make his boots a little tighter than normal, but it would be worth it for the warmth they offered. He’d have to thank Robb once they were on the way, given how often Jon complained about how cold the floors of the Stark cottage were.

He dressed himself in the warmest clothes he had: long john underwear under his jeans, an undershirt, a thermal, a flannel, and a hoodie. He knew Robb would jest him for the outfit, but he didn’t have the winter clothes the Starks all did.

Jon quietly exited the room, bringing his gear for his trip. He and Robb had a plan to eat a quick breakfast before packing up the car—Jon was skeptical on why _quick_ and not _hardy_ because he doubted anything they’d be cooking or bringing with them on the trip would be filing. Jon was hoping for eggs, sausage, toast, and coffee.

Robb greeted him with an egg on toast sandwich that he was instructed to eat in the car. There were thermoses of coffee waiting on the counter, and a pack stocked with food waiting for them to take with.

“You were busy this morning,” Jon commented, eyeing all the food. Robb shook his head, laughing.

“Mum did it. It was all ready when I got up fifteen minutes ago. She must’ve gotten up an hour before us.” Jon nodded, commenting on how nice that was. He was honestly lightly surprised: Catelyn hadn’t seemed like the type but then again what did he know? He’d never had a mother.

It was seconds later Robb’s comment struck him oddly. If Robb got up fifteen minutes ago, he would’ve been getting up around the same time as he was.

“Wait, you only got up fifteen minutes ago?” Robb nodded, pulling on his winter jacket, his hiking boots. Jon had been lacing up his boots as well, but stopped midway through, trying to figure out who his socks were from, if it wasn’t Robb. “Someone put these socks in my room while I was sleeping. I thought it was you. ‘Cause I always complain about how cold your floors are.”

“Maybe it was your Secret Santa,” Robb shrugged.

Jon forgot about that being an option. He forgot Arya had put his name in Sansa’s hat as well. Someone in the family was getting him a gift for Christmas as well. He hoped it was Robb so that it didn’t make anyone feel uncomfortable, buying someone they barely knew a present, but the confusion on Robb’s face told him it was one of the other Starks who had drawn his name.

They packed up Robb’s little red car with their gear, their food, and their camping supplies. They settled in the car, heat on high and radio on low. They had a four-hour drive to the trailhead. Robb and Jon ate their sandwiches quietly, both in their own thoughts.

Jon was still stuck on the notion of one of the Starks having his name. He hoped it wasn’t Catelyn. The idea of a mother giving him a gift made him feeling panicky. He sort of wished it was Arya. She was the only other Stark he had a real connection with, he thought. Though socks did not seem like the type of thing that Arya would get someone in advance, or at all. She definitely seemed like a more fun, less practical gift giver.

Jon was lost in that train of thought, enough that he almost worked himself into a panic, but looking out the window calmed him down. He watched the naked trees that stenciled the rays of the sun, the smaller plants that sparkled with the early morning frost, and the mist hovering above the ground, graying and mystifying the world all blur past. He found himself pulling out his phone, recording out the window, hoping to capture the beauty of it. Jon paused when he realized he was wondering how Sansa would capture it, in the sketchbook she was always drawing in.

They drove with the radio playing quietly, some soft Northern band. That sound combined with the imagery out his window made Jon consider moving back north after he graduated. He had another two years, but he didn’t have a clue for what he’d do once he was done with school—it was his life, his love, and his family. He didn’t have anything else. The ink, the pages, the maps, and the words, they were his siblings, his parents, his cousins, aunts and uncles. Without them, he’d be alone. Again.

* * *

 

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because he woke to the sun warming his face, casting his eyelids in a red-orange hue. The car was stopped and Robb was not in it. Unbuckling, Jon got out, finding Robb standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Robb asked. Jon agreed quietly, staring at the white and grey forest. They stood there, watching the sun break over the tree line, watching the sparkling mist settle until the cold was biting so deep that they had to move to keep warm. The men made their way back to the car, popping the trunk and loading the gear up on their backs. Robb’s car was the only one in the lot, as this trail was typically only used in the summer. Only Northerners like the Starks would use this trail in the winter.

“Do you know who my Secret Santa is?” Jon asked Robb after they’d been walking for five minutes.

“I can’t tell you that!” Robb exclaimed, laughing. Jon gave him a playful scowl, but almost found himself grinning. Robb knew who it was, otherwise he would have just said no. He wasn’t sure how Robb knew, but it probably meant that someone came to him for advice—which also probably meant that whoever had it cared, to some degree, and wanted to get Jon something good for Christmas. He still thought it could be Arya.

Unless, of course, they came to Robb for a trade. That idea made Jon almost feel sick again. Robb said something to him then, and they started talking in slow bursts, until the cold and the effort got to them and they lapsed into silence, which was only broken when they both got hungry and had to dig out the jerky Catelyn had packed for them.

A few hours later, they found the place they had marked on the map to camp for the first night. They had about two hours before the sun would get below the trees, which gave them just enough time to set up their tent and fire. Jon went off in search of dry wood while Robb began with the tent. Jon had turned up the collar of his pea coat, trying to pull it higher to cover more of his face. The only part of his body that wasn’t cold were his feet, thanks to those new socks. He was also completely sure that he was going to have to get a new coat—there was no way he was getting it fully clean again after carrying the wood against it back to their camp. He was pretty sure the smoke from the fire would get embedded in the fibers as well. He had the thought that maybe he should have Robb text his family and tell them whoever had him for Secret Santa should get him a new coat for Christmas. Plus, this one wasn’t near warm enough for the month he’d be in the bitterly cold north.

When he came back to the camp the pieces of the tent were all laid out and arranged as to how they were to be assembled, but not yet put together so that it looked like a tent. Jon dropped the wood on the tarp they’d grabbed from the basement—the one Sansa wasn’t using as a partition to block her studio from the rest of the space—and went to help Robb with the tent.

“Thought you’d have this all set up by now,” Jon joked as Robb struggled to thread a pole through a piece of canvas.   “Apparently it’s a two person job,” Robb huffed, throwing the pole into the snow after failing to get it through the material. Jon laughed loudly, the sound startling snow black birds from a tree. Robb glowered for a moment before laughing with Jon. Jon came over to where Robb was standing, and picked the pole up, motioning for Robb to grab the canvas.

They got the tent set up with sleeping bags and everything with in half an hour. Jon got started building the fire while Robb unpacked some of their food and the kettle to cook it in. Apparently Catelyn had sent specific instructions on how it was to be cooked, and made sure they had all the proper supplies, including fresh water. Jon tried not to think about it too hard, the concept of a mother was still too strange and uncomfortable for him.

Once Jon got the fire going, Robb started cooking their dinner, which was some form of stew. Jon wasn’t really sure. It was in a bag that Robb dumped in the kettle once the water was boiling. Jon didn’t know how to cook—when he was at KLU he ate the pasta that he could get eight packs for a single dollar. This looked similar, but much better tasting. Robb told Jon how to wrap the bread his mum had sent in foil and stick them in the embers to warm them while they waited for the stew. A few minutes later the smells of the Stark kitchen filled the camp and both the men had groaning stomachs.

They ate sitting on the tarp they’d used to keep the wood off the snow, quietly pushing the food around the bowls with their bread. The quiet was normal for them though—neither of them felt the need to fill the air with empty sounds just so that there would be noise. When they spoke it was with care and purpose—this was especially true of Jon.

He’d found that when he was quiet he was much more likely to be heard if it was a rare time he spoke. It was probably something he’d picked up from living with one of his foster families, but he didn’t really like to think about that. He didn’t like to remember before undergrad—before he’d aged out of the system at eighteen. He also didn’t like to think about how this past week, at the Stark’s cottage, was the first time he’d been with a family in six years. First time he’d been with a family for Christmas for seven. Robb didn’t know that though—didn’t know how much it meant to Jon that his name got put in that hat with all the rest of the Stark names, that he was getting something for Christmas too. That was new for him, and he knew it really shouldn’t be.

Robb cleaned up, following his mother’s instructions, and Jon continued to stare at the fire as the sun’s light was overtaken by the darkening sky. Fire had always appealed to him—not that he ever set fires; he just liked to watch the flames.

When Robb returned, he laid down flat on the tarp, facing the sky. The stars were just coming out, Jon figured, and he was sure the sight was beautiful, but the fire was more alluring. It was warmer and he always found the stars rather cold. They were unreachable, untouchable, and only there part of the time. You only saw parts of them, never all, and for some reason he equated them with his childhood. Jon thought somewhere along the line he’d slept beneath a ceiling with stick-on stars and they seemed lonely, so far apart from the others. Maybe they reminded him of himself. The stars were alone too.

When it got too cold and too dark the men put out the fire and crawled into the tent. They put their packs in as well, hoping the condensed space would keep their things from freezing. Both men kicked off their boots and crawled quickly into their thick sleeping bags, each pulling a secondary blanket over the top of them. It wasn’t anywhere near as warm or as comfortable as Jon’s bed in the guest room of the Stark cottage, but it also wasn’t near as bad as it should have been.

“How’re those socks holding up?” Robb asked. Jon happily wiggled his toes in them, feeling the fuzziness.

“Great. They’re really warm. How’re yours doing?”

“You may need to amputate my baby toe in the morning. These socks are terrible. I’ll have to ask—” Robb took a sharp break in, realizing he was about to accidentally reveal who Jon’s Secret Santa was. “Uh uh,” Robb laughed. “You’re not getting it out of me that easily. They’d kill me.” Jon still thought that meant it was Arya, as she was probably the only one capable of murder in the Stark house.

“Right. All right. Night, Robb,” Jon laughed quietly, rolling over and pulling his arms through his sleeves so that they were wrapped around his bare chest. He hoped that would help him keep warm.

* * *

 

They awoke the next morning cold but not terrifyingly so—not enough to have to worry seriously about frostbite. Whatever dew had settled on the trees while they slept had frozen before they’d woken up, leaving the trees looking like they were covered in glass. Robb was up first, making coffee over a freshly made fire. They were going to hike out a bit farther to where some battle was supposed to have taken place and return to the site for the night before heading out the next morning.

They had already discussed the pros and cons of leaving the tent set up for the hours they’d be back—less of a hassle, animals, weather, cold, less of a hassle… They decided to leave the tent up and hope nothing happened to it. Jon knew Robb was hoping that the sun beating down on it all day would keep the inside warmer, but Jon doubted it.

It was an hour hike past where they’d camped. The men found it easily enough, the trees looking a few hundred years younger than the ones they’d seen the rest of the way through the forest. Their pattern was less wild as well, as if they’d purposely been planted.

Jon and Robb kicked some snow around, trying to see the ground beneath. They were hoping to find some reminders from the battle even though it was over a half a thousand years ago. Robb got bored rather quickly of kicking at the snow and went to wander around the ring of trees that marked the battleground, gauging the size of the field. They’d been in the field for maybe an hour when Robb came rushing over to where Jon was still moving snow around with his surprisingly warm feet.

“You won’t believe what I might’ve found!” he exclaimed. His grin was as one of his younger siblings’, and just as mischievous. Robb excitedly pulled Jon over to the tree he’d been examining and pointed up. Embedded in the wood was something red that caught the light. “Do those look like they could be rubies to you?” Robb asked. Jon squinted at the couple of spots that glinted in the sun.

“Or crystalized sap,” Jon reasoned, even though he was yanking his glove off and hesitantly touching the base of the tree—not where the red was, but below. The tree was old; Jon could feel that in his soul. “But even _if_ those are rubies…that battle was to have taken place much farther south. Definitely below the Neck,” Jon whispered, hand still on the base of the tree. “If these are what you think they are… Why would they be here? In the Wolf’s Wood?” Jon sat in the snow, ignoring the cold that immediately seeped through his jeans. They stared at the bloody sparkles in silence longer than a normal person would before Jon gasped, something Sansa said at dinner a few nights ago shooting into his mind. “Lyanna,” he whispered with revelation.

“What?”

“Lyanna. What if the battle _did_ happen where everyone thinks it did, in the south. No one ever found the rubies, right? And enough historians say that the rubies would’ve been knocked loose right? Free game for anyone to find. Well, what if _Lyanna_ found them first? We don’t know where she was that day. Eventually she was found in the tower, but that was months after this battle, right?” Robb nodded but he still looked lost. Jon hurried on. “What if Lyanna was _on_ the battle field that day? What if _she_ found Rheagar’s rubies? What if she took them north, to her home, to lay her lover to rest in the only way she knew how. If she took some of the rubies to the Wolf’s Wood and buried them in the ashes of another battleground? She would’ve had enough time to get this far north and then back south. Or they could be lying about where she was found. There was never any proof of that, right?” Jon was talking quickly, gesturing broadly, blood pounding with excitement. At this point Robb was nodding along, just as excited.

Jon knew that his theory was unlikely—the red spots were more than likely drops of frozen sap, but he didn’t care. It was fun to imagine.

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the surrounding area, hoping to find something more, whether or not it supported or denied their theory was unimportant at that point. They didn’t, but the plausible rubies were enough for them. They circled back to that tree before they headed back to camp. Robb pulled out his knife and carved _L+R_ into the bark below the glittering drops.

Back at camp Robb started preparing dinner again, after lighting the fire, and Jon was still buzzing over the idea of what they may have found. It was all they talked about until they fell asleep rolled up in their bags and blankets.

* * *

 

Their hike back the next morning was as quiet as the hike out had been, due to tiredness, effort, and cold. It wasn’t until they were unpacked and back in the car that they realized how bad they both smelled. They couldn’t tell with the cold and the layers, but once the heat cranked and their jackets shed, the smells were unleashed. They ended up driving back to the Stark cottage with the windows cracked and breathing shallowly through their mouths. Despite their smells, they stopped to get food on the way back, partially hoping the smell of burgers and fries would mask the other odors.

It was late when they arrived back at the cottage. Sansa greeted them in the kitchen, having obviously just emerged from the basement, her hands streaked with black. She informed them that the younger boys were asleep, as were Ned and Catelyn. Arya was apparently sleeping at Gendry’s—she’d been over late helping with some lyrics and somehow it was agreed that she should spend the night there.

Sansa chatted with Jon briefly in the kitchen while Robb unpacked their gear in the garage, clothes immediately going in the wash to be started once they’d both showered. Robb had called dibs on showering first in the car, much to Jon’s annoyance. He didn’t like smelling bad. The Stark cottage had four bathrooms but only three showers. One was the boys’ and Arya’s, the one Jon had been using, one was in the en suite in the master bedroom, and one was Sansa’s. Somehow, even though the Starks had two daughters, Sansa had scored her own bathroom.

“Right, well I’m going to shower. You can use it soon as I’m out. No guarantees on hot water though,” Robb called as he stripped his shirt off while walking through the kitchen to the stairs. Sansa wrinkled her nose at him before she turned to Jon with a confused look.

“Neither of us have showered since we left,” Jon explained with slight embarrassment. Sansa didn’t look surprised at that though.

“Why does he get to shower first though?” she questioned. Jon shrugged.

“He called dibs.”

“Well, that was rude. You’re the guest. You should get to shower first,” she muttered. Jon had to chuckle quietly. He wondered if she took all guest etiquettes so seriously. He shrugged again. “Come on,” Sansa instructed, pushing off the stool she was perched on and leading him up stairs. “Grab whatever you need,” she told him, opening a door he’d never noticed and pulled a towel down. He went to his room to fetch his boxers and the clean pair of socks he had left—the good ones he’d gotten from the Secret Santa—and met her back in the hallway. “You can use my shower,” she explained at last, opening her bedroom door.

Sansa ushered Jon Snow through her room to the bathroom door, flipping on the light and the fan. She hung the towel on the empty hook, and turned the shower on for him. The room was a rosy pink that immediately made him feel warm and like he need a shower worse than before—the room was so clean and smelled so good that he couldn’t believe how bad he smelled in comparison. “You can use whatever you need in there. I don’t mind. There’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet if you need it. Robb can take an obnoxiously long time in the bathroom.”

“Thank you,” was all Jon managed to get out, hoping his blush didn’t extend to his face. Random acts of kindness made him feel uncomfortable—doubly so from girls like Sansa. She smiled brightly, shuffling around him and shutting the door behind her. Jon Snow quickly rid himself of everything covering his body and nearly dove into the shower, glass door shutting quietly behind him.

The shower stall was equally as clean as the rest of the room. It was all pristinely white, the only spots of color were the bottles that littered the inner ridge. There were an awful lot for only one girl using the shower, Jon thought. The awkwardness he felt in using his best friend’s sister’s shower was forgotten as soon as he stood fully under the spray, the water steaming the room quickly, pinking his skin, darkening and straightening his hair. He’d forgotten in the three days how good a shower could feel.

Jon Snow realized the reasons for all the bottles as soon as he tried to find the shampoo. Apparently girls had different types of shampoo and conditioner for different occasions. He wasn’t sure why there were so many in one shower, but of the three bottles of shampoo there was a colon and a subcategory for each one he looked at. He used the one that he thought smelled the best, doing the same with the various body washes that lined that wall. It was at that point he realized he didn’t have anything to scrub down with and was forced to use his hand, as odd as that felt. The smell of the body wash and shampoo overtook the small room, wrapping him in the natural smell that had an undertone of femininity. He wasn’t sure he’d ever smelled it on Sansa before—not that he’d ever been close enough to—but he enjoyed the way it mixed with the steam and the warmth of the water. After he rinsed, he wasted a few more blissful moments under the spray, letting it pound on the top of his head and down his back.

Once he was dried and in his boxers, he took Sansa up on her offer of the spare toothbrush, as he was pretty sure he still heard the other shower running. _That_ was an even better feeling than the shower.

“Thanks again for letting me use the shower and the toothbrush,” he told Sansa once he opened the door, having made sure the place was as clean as before he’d used it.

“Oh, no problem. I’m sorry for Robb. Sometimes he forgets his manners,” she responded from the chair at her desk. Jon made a move to return to his own room, starting to feel awkward standing in her room in naught but his boxers. “So how was your trip?” Sansa had closed her laptop and turned so he had her full attention. It was something he’d noticed her do before and he found it made him like her even more.

“Good. It was cold, but we expected that,” he replied, thinking that was all she was looking for. She smiled again, nodding.

“How was that…battleground? That’s what you went to see, right?” He was impressed—either that she remembered or that she had been listening.

“Good—really good, actually. We saw something that could actually be something, but probably isn’t,” he revealed slowly. Not for the sake of suspense, but trying to gauge her response. If she was just being polite she would smile again and no doubt say something along the lines of _how interesting_ , or _that’s nice_. Something vaguely positive, which was exactly what he expected her to say next.

“Really? What’d you find?” she asked, surprising him—not just with her words but also with her tone. She genuinely sounded interested. He opened his mouth to respond but before he could, she motioned to the bed. “You can sit you know. I want to hear all about your trip,” Sansa Stark told him, pulling her legs up and crossing them on the chair, settling in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't believe what they think they could have found is canon at all. These are two nerds with fan theories, written by a nerd with fan theories.


	5. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd get the next chapter posted before the episode airs tonight.

The day before Christmas Eve was the least favorite day of Sansa Stark, especially this year. She really wanted to spend the last two days available to her putting the finishing touches on the map for Jon Snow. She just had to finish aging it and burning the edges, which she thought she’d have plenty of time to do, but she’d somehow forgotten that Catelyn recruited her every year to help in the kitchen. Really, Sansa thought it was high time Arya helped in the kitchen too, or any of the other children for that matter, but Sansa was the only one her mother ever asked. Sansa knew why though.

When she was younger she would beg her mother to let her help in the kitchen. She had enjoyed the quiet, methodical way Catelyn worked. Sansa had enjoyed the fact that her mother was taking care of everybody by feeding them. She quickly learned how much a good meal or one of her sibling’s favorite foods completely transformed their day. Even when she was younger, she saw the way Arya’s mood would brighten if she was handed her favorite dish at dinner. Sansa had enjoyed that feeling of changing someone’s day, of helping her mother. That was until her senior year of high school. Now her mother just asked her out of habit.

What irritated Sansa more was that none of the others offered either—except Jon. After Sansa was pulled into the kitchen at the request of her mother, Jon appeared, asking if there was anything he could do to help. Sansa almost asked if he would mind helping her prepare the potatoes before her mother told him no, he could join the others in the living room.

Sansa hadn’t seen much of Jon since him and Robb got back from their trip. She thought it might have something to do with him hanging out with her in her room after his shower. He had looked genuinely surprised at her offer of a shower, and again at her offer for him to sit, for actual conversation. She could tell he was embarrassed to sit on her bed, only in his boxers. She thought it was cute, the way his cheeks never lost that slight pink hue. Not that they talked long, maybe an hour at most, but she thought it was sweet that he was so gentlemanly and hesitant in doing anything that could potentially cause her any discomfort.

Sansa thought it made Jon different, good— _better_ in some way, but she really couldn’t say anything to that effect, as she didn’t have much experience with boys. She’d had a few boyfriends in high school—the types where they would go on dates to see a movie or to dinner with friends and the night would even with a kiss on the lips. Maybe making out, if the boy was feeling particularly dangerous.

She’d almost had a serious boyfriend last year, at KLU. She’d gone on a few dates with someone named Joffery, who was cherubic in appearance but demonic in nature. It appeared as if it would play out to be the great romance of her college years, but after dating for a few weeks he suddenly disappeared. It was Margaery who had told her he’d been expelled for sexual assault. He’d been under investigation the whole time they’d been dating, and she hadn’t known. She was terrified about what could have happened. She didn’t trust her judgment anymore either, not after that. Since then she’d been much more hesitant around being alone with men.

Being alone with Jon was different though. Maybe it was because she was home, or because he already had Robb’s stamp of approval, but either way she felt safe around him in a way she didn’t really ever feel safe around other men since the fear had sank in of what could have happened with Joffery.

Sansa was also pretty sure that part of the reason they hadn’t seen each other outside of dinner and whole-family events was partially because of her spending all her time in the basement, working on the map, but it was also because Sansa was hyper aware of her mother. If Catelyn knew about the other night, when they sat innocently in her room and talked, she would have a fit. Jon would probably be packed up and shipped back to KLU. Sansa avoided any contact with Jon that would cause Catelyn concern. She didn’t want him to be alone over the holidays because of her.

Catelyn was very protective of Sansa, the pretty, sweet, naïve daughter that only could see the good in people. So protective that she didn’t want Sansa moving way for college. When Sansa announced she was going to KLU her and her mother had their first fight. Sansa was still upset about it, about her mother saying _I won't have it. I won’t let you go._

* * *

 

Once Sansa was released from kitchen duty, she slipped upstairs while Arya was busy with Jon, hanging decorations from the front of the house, despite the bitter cold. She didn’t want to ask Arya for her lighter, and she certainly didn’t want to go snooping through Arya’s room to find it, but Sansa figured Arya and gone through her own enough that she was owed this one exploration.

Sansa regretted her decision as soon as she opened the door. Arya’s room was messy, as in disaster messy. She couldn’t even begin to guess where to look first for the lighter. Thinking logically, Sansa started with the surfaces, which were cluttered. She assumed that’s where Arya would empty out her pockets each night. And then Sansa realized that she was trying to think like Arya while thinking logically, which was going to lead her nowhere. Instead, she stooped and shook out a pair of jeans that were on the ground near her. The lighter, among other things, spilled out. Sansa snatched up the lighter and tried to arrange the pants as they had been, hoping the room looked undisturbed in her exit.

Retreating back to the basement, Sansa evaluated what she had left to do. She had finished painting the map a yellow-brown over the weekend, making the paper looked aged, and had let it dry for two days. She still had to texturize the map—painting in creases and the like so it looked worn and burning the edges down for the same reason. She was hoping to finish that part tonight so that she could let it dry and it would be ready to put under the tree before everyone was up Christmas morning. She had the book already wrapped and ready to go, but she liked the oddity of the map’s shape. She was excited to see everyone’s confusion at the cylindrical present for Jon Snow that would appear under the tree. She was sure he’d like it. When she described the project to Ned he’d assured her it was a wonderfully creative idea that anyone would love. She hoped her father was right.

* * *

 

Sansa slept in on Christmas Eve for what was probably the first time since she’d returned to Winterfell; she had stayed up late finishing the map so that it had the day to dry. Burning the edges had turned out to be a much more tedious task than she initially thought it would be and it was early morning when she went to bed.

By the time she was showered and downstairs the early dinner they would be having as a family was already in the oven. Rickon had been stuck in front of the TV—no doubt because he was already dressed for dinner—the channel turned to a series of children Christmas movies that played on a loop with Bran as supervision. Catelyn was knitting still and the other three Starks and Jon were in the midst of a snowball fight in the backyard.

Slipping quietly past her brothers, Sansa pulled on her boots and jacket to join the fun. Keeping close to the door, she quickly tugged on her gloves so that she could make her attack before she was noticed. From where she stood, she thought she could hit Robb easily, his back was to her and he was busy making a snowball to throw at Jon. Sansa hit him square in the back of his head, but when he turned she realized it was Jon she’d been aiming at, not Robb.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you were Robb!” Sansa apologized, still rolling her next ball she was actually going to use on Robb this time, but she was struck before she threw it. Arya cackled. Sansa abandoned the snow she’d been molding, running instead to hide behind her father’s large frame.

Apparently when she had joined the fight it was a free for all, but at some point that changed. Arya managed to scramble up onto Jon’s shoulders, making a team. Robb and Ned pelted them with snowballs. Not wanting to be on the losing side, Sansa kept her position behind Ned, ducking out to throw snow at Arya, but more often than not she struck Jon instead. Eventually, trying to even the fight, Ned lifted Sansa onto his own shoulders, and Robb supplied both teams with ammunition. It wasn’t until Catelyn came out to tell them that it was time to start getting ready for dinner that either team yielded. Both girls were gently lowered to the ground and the group of them headed inside, save for Arya who threw two last snowballs at Sansa and Ned, declaring herself and Jon winners.

* * *

 

In her room, Sansa changed into appropriate Christmas Eve dinner attire quickly, retouching the makeup that had smudged in the snowball fight. She was trying to hurry because she had heard Jon’s door close and she wanted to beat him out, so that she could leave the slippers she’d bought him outside his door. She knew the socks were a success, but she also knew all three pairs were in the laundry and that he’d been going around barefoot again. Checking that no one was in the hall, Sansa dropped the slippers right outside his door so that there was no way he could miss them before she went downstairs to set the table.

Christmas Eve was the more formal of the affairs. They had a sit down dinner with no phones, no TV, nothing but good food and conversation. Arya was allowed a single glass of wine. The only difference in this year’s dinner was that Arya was better behaved than normal. Sansa wasn’t sure if it was because of the wine she was allowed for if it was because Catelyn sat her across from Jon Snow again—who was wearing the slippers she’d given him—giving her someone to talk to.

After Catelyn and Sansa cleaned up dinner, the family settled into the cozy living room. Catelyn was knitting again in her chair. Sansa had her sketchbook propped on her lap, curled into the edge of the sofa. Ned was in his armchair by the fire, reading one of his books. Rickon was watching one of the movies on TV, playing quietly with the action figures in his lap. Arya, Jon, Robb, and Bran sat on the floor, playing a card game Arya was teaching them that sounded maddening to everyone except Arya, who would cackle every time she dealt a card out to one of the others for doing something wrong.

It used to be that family would join them for the holidays, but the relatives got older and the distance seemed farther. It was quieter than it used to be, with all the children getting older but before grandchildren started appearing on the scene. Sansa didn’t mind the small, quiet celebration though. She enjoyed any family time she got nowadays, since she’d started at KLU.

Sansa knew Catelyn preferred it too. If it was just their family, she could actually enjoy spending time with her family, whereas when extended family came down Sansa knew her mother had been twice as stressed as she was now.

Catelyn shuffled Rickon and Bran off to bed around ten o’clock, following them herself. Ned poured himself a drink, offering one to the three of age. Robb and Jon accepted. Arya offered to take the one Sansa refused. The men were engaged in some type of philosophical discussion, something involving the history they all studied, and that bored Arya enough to retreat to her room before eleven. Sansa was trying to stay up so that she could get the map wrapped and under the tree before she went to bed, but by midnight she realized Ned was probably doing the same thing. Resolving to simply get up early, Sansa retired before any of the men did. 

* * *

 

She awoke whilst it was still dark; the numbers on her phone told her it was quarter to five. Dressing in her robe and slippers, she sneaked down to the basement. The map was dry. It was finished. All she had to do was roll it into the cartographer’s tube she’d bought and wrap the tube. Once Sansa finished arranging everything under the tree, where more presents had appeared since the previous night, she was about to head back to bed when she heard the telltale sounds of young feet on the stairs. Before she got a chance to grab him, Rickon was in front of the tree, wildly excited to open presents.

“Presents!” Rickon yelled in a battle cry, launching himself at one of the presents—no telling if it was one of his or not. Sansa caught him around the middle, pulling him away from the tree.

“Did you wake anyone up?” Sansa whispered. Rickon stopped squirming and shook his head, staring mournfully at the pile he was being kept from. “We have to wait for everyone else to get up. Here, why don’t you sit in Daddy’s chair and keep watch.” Sansa put him in the big armchair between the fireplace and the tree. He sat there quietly for about five seconds before trying to get back to the presents. Sansa saw Bran’s old GameBoy on the shelf and quickly stuck it in Rickon’s hands. “Here. Play this while you keep watch.” Sansa turned the TV on low, some morning news show, and curled up on the sofa under one of the blankets. She kept her eyes on Rickon, but he seemed occupied enough with the video game.

At some point she must have drifted off because the next thing she knew she was being flicked in the nose. She instinctively kicked her foot out, nearly catching Arya in the stomach. Sansa got another flick for that. Sitting up, she realized that Rickon had fallen asleep as well, hands wrapped around the gaming device. Ned was lifting the youngest Stark out of his chair and settling him on his lap once he sat down. Robb and Jon took up the extra room on the sofa Sansa allowed by removing her feet. Arya perched next to Jon on the armrest while Bran and Catelyn sat on the floor near Ned. At being shifted, Rickon had woken up and was now struggling to get closer to the presents again.

“Here you go, this one’s for you,” Ned told him, handing him the one that didn’t have a _from_ label. Rickon eagerly tore into it, tossing the paper to the side in a rush. Inside was some kind of outdoor game—Sansa wasn’t quite sure, but Rickon saw the child on the box having fun so he was excited. Ned and Catelyn looked at the older kids that were squished together but they all shrugged.

“That’s from me,” Bran volunteered. Rickon had moved on but their parents said thank you for him.

“Uh uh. Let everyone else open on before you open another,” Ned said, deterring Rickon from reaching for another package. “Here, Bran, this one’s for you.” Bran had torn but a corner when Rickon yelled out that that one was from him.

“Cool! Thanks!” It was a book on animals—one Bran didn’t have yet.

“Okay, Arya, you’re up next.” Arya leapt up and dug through the pile under the tree, looking for the one with her name and no _from_ sticker. From behind the tree, Arya pulled out a long, thin package that was neatly wrapped. Arya eagerly looked around, her eyes wide and hopeful. Sansa wondered what she thought was in the box, but she didn’t have to wonder long because Arya ripped into it with more speed and less finesse than Rickon.

“A sword?!” Arya screeched, her smile taking up her whole face. She immediately went into a position she must’ve seen in a movie or TV show. Her eyes went to Ned first and when he shrugged she turned to Robb.

“It’s from me, actually,” Jon offered quietly. “It’s a foil—what we use in fencing, but the hilt is different. I had it designed to match the one Nymeria was thought to have carried. Robb told me you had liked learning about her in history. It’s not sharp, but don’t stick anyone with it. It’s not a toy, all right?” Jon explained. Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if he’d cleared that with her parents. Though it wasn’t a real sword, technically. And coming from Jon, it might be better—Arya seemed to listen more to Jon than she did some other members of the family. Arya was nodding along with him and carefully put the foil back in the box before she jumped at Jon, giving him a tight hug.

Once she broke away and moved the box out of the way, Sansa went to find hers. It was small and heavy. Frowning, Sansa carefully opened the wrapping, folding it and setting it to the side. Inside was a candle. The label said it was a bonfire candle, with a wooden wick and it smelled like the North, like home. Sansa was turning to Cat to thank her, but her mother was shaking her head.

“That’s from me,” Arya said. “I thought it smelled like home and you might like having that when you’re at school.”

“I would. Thank you.” She was touched at the surprising thoughtfulness of her sister, and moved to hug her but she dodged it.

“Jon’s next, yeah?” Arya asked, finding the map with the book balanced on top of it. Sansa sat up straight, bettering her view of Jon. He opened the book first, the one she’d read in two days. His face lit up with a smile that she hadn’t seen on his face in the two weeks he’d been with them. He flipped through the pages quickly, skimming them.

“This is great. I don’t know that I’ve seen this book before.” He was so taken with the book that he appeared to have forgotten or not noticed the other package.

“I believe that one’s for you too.” Ned indicated to the map. Jon looked confused, first at Ned and then at the package as he began to unwrap it. He unwrapped the same way Sansa did. When the leather tube was revealed, his brows drew further together. Uncapping the tube, he slid the map out. Robb jumped up to help him, as the map was probably about six feet in length. Peering over the top edge, both men looked like they’d seen their dreams come true. Sansa was consciously working on suppressing her grin. Both Robb and Jon looked baffled, but Robb’s eyes slowly made their way over to meet hers. Jon was still staring at the map with an open mouth.

“How… What…” He tried several times to jumpstart a verbal reaction, each one failing. Jon’s eyes lifted to meet Ned’s, thinking the gift was from him. Ned smirked, looking like Arya, and pointed subtly to Sansa. “You…?”

“It’s not the real map. The one in the bookshop you were looking at. I made a replica. I hope it’s right.” _Better be right,_ Sansa thought. She’d broken the map down into little squares and worked on it one square at a time so she didn’t miss anything.

“It’s wonderful. I—I don’t… Thanks. Thank you.” Sansa smiled and told him it was no problem, she had fun doing it. She was the one that was surprised when he came over to hug her. It was a brief, one-armed hug, but she hadn’t been anticipating it.

Jon still looked in a state of shock when they moved on and Robb opened the first edition book he got from Ned. The last few Secret Santa gifts were opened rather quickly, as Rickon was losing his patience. From Robb, Catelyn got a royal blue cardigan, the one Sansa had seen him buy when they went shopping, and from Cat, Ned got an engraved fountain pen for his desk.

The next round of presents went much quicker because all the kids opened them at once, as they were from Santa. Sansa got a sweater she knew Cat knitted in a bright blue, and a silver necklace from her parents that had a little bird pendent. All of the other kids got knitted sweaters, including Jon, done by Catelyn. That had surprised Sansa. She didn’t realize Catelyn would knit him something and was touched for him.

The other present the kids got was the nice gift from their parents. Rickon and Bran got a gaming system as a joint gift. Arya got silver earrings that were shaped like a wolf’s incisors. Robb got some antique watch. Sansa learned around Robb to see what Jon got, hoping it was something nice and not something stupid. Out of a box he pulled two identical white wolves that were sitting on their haunches, howling upwards. Sansa guessed that they were bookends. She was sure it was something her father picked out; Catelyn wouldn’t have bothered putting in that much effort for a man she’d known for two weeks—another stray she wasn’t overly thrilled about, though after seeing the sweater she wasn’t so sure.

After everything was opened, stockings included, and the room was cleaned, Catelyn began to make breakfast while the kids played with their new toys. Robb and Jon took the opportunity, with Ned, to use the empty dinning table to unroll the map again, to study it closely. Sansa wanted to join them, to hear what they were saying about it, but something stopped her. She didn’t think they’d be as honest if they knew she was in earshot. Instead, she sat and watched Arya dance around the living room with her new sword. She was very careful not to point it at anyone or get it too near something breakable. She treated it with as much care as she treated her iPod, her prized possession. She slashed the air with graceful arcs that surprised Sansa. She thought of her sister as many things, but graceful was never one of them. Even as she watched, Sansa heard the men’s deep rumbling voices commenting on her map. She heard each _look at this, how did she manage, wow,_ and _I can’t believe…_ It made her glow more than any other compliment she’d gotten on her art before.

She heard quietness in the kitchen and got up quickly, wondering what had stopped her mother. Sansa paused at the corner between the living room and dining room. Catelyn had come in and was staring at her map. Sansa’s heart thudded. It was the first piece of her art Catelyn had seen in since their fight. To her surprise, Catelyn’s face softened looking at it.

* * *

 

The days between Christmas and New Year’s Eve passed quickly, in a scramble to make plans, find outfits, and the like. One of Robb’s friends from high school, one Sansa never liked much, was apparently throwing a party. Jeyne had heard about it and wanted to go. She thought Theon was cute in high school. Sansa would’ve preferred going to the pubs rather than some house party in the country, but it sounded like the Wolf’s Crown was having an all-ages night on New Year’s Eve, and Gendry’s band was playing again. So it was either the house party with Robb and Jon or the pubs with Arya. Theon’s party sounded like the better of the options. Plus, since Robb and Jon were going, Sansa didn’t have to fight quite as hard to get permission.


	6. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's party anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter before the end of season 5, before Theon helped Sansa escape, so my interpretation on Theon and Jon's relationship is based on the little we see in season 1 and the books

Around eight, they pulled up in front of what Jon thought was an obnoxiously large brick manor house. He wasn’t sure if it should be called a large house or a small mansion. He heard one of the girls in the back make an impressed sound, and he felt sick to his stomach. He’d never been anywhere near a building this big other than the university halls in KLU, but those were public buildings. This was a _house_.

“You went to high school with this guy?” Jon muttered to Robb on the way up the drive.

“Yeah. This isn’t his place though. I think this belongs to a family friend. Or something,” Robb explained quietly as the girls excitedly chattered behind them, carrying the bags of liquor and mixers they’d stopped to get on the way. Robb knocked once, loudly, on the large, dark wood door. Instead of waiting for a response, he pushed the door open, ushering the girls through first. “Theon!” Robb called into the expansive foyer. A man dressed in black and gold descended the grand flight of stairs, tumbler in hand.

“My favorite family! Happy New Year’s Eve!” Theon greeted them, arms wide and what Jon thought was a slimy smile on his face. “Robb, it’s been too long. And Sansa! You’re more beautiful than ever! Is that Jeyne? Jeyne Poole? You’re certainty a pretty picture.” He hugged the Starks and Sansa’s friend in turn, giving each girl a kiss on the cheek. Sansa looked unaffected, but Jeyne blushed under his flattery. “You must be Jon Snow. Robb said he was bringing a friend from University. Nice to meet you.” Theon stuck out his hand and it took everything in Jon to shake it.

Theon escorted them upstairs first, to a door that had a sticky note taped to it. “This is your room. It says Starks. You can sort out who sleeps with who on your own.” Inside the room were two queen-sized beds. No one looked overly concerned about that fact, so Jon hid his. They threw their overnight bags between the beds and followed Theon down to the kitchen to deposit the liquor and mixers and to make their drinks.

“This isn’t it, right? There’ll be more people?” Robb asked. Theon nodded enthusiastically.

“I’m expecting close to two hundred. Most people weren’t set to arrive until closer to nine, but I thought we could have a nice dinner and catch up before too many people get here and we don’t get to see each other for the rest of the night. Asha should be here with the food any minute,” Theon continued after taking a drink. Jon was starting to regret beginning the night with a beer rather than something significantly stronger—like the whiskey he’d brought.

The dinner was an awkward affair. The only ones who seemed at ease were Theon and Asha, his sister. Robb was probably slightly more comfortable than the girls and Jon, but that wasn’t saying much. Jon found he spent most of the dinner wishing again that he had a whiskey in front of him instead of a beer and scowling whenever Theon directed their attention toward either of the girls. He decided there was no way he would be leaving Jeyne and Sansa completely alone tonight. He didn’t trust the host and he doubted he’d trust any of the guests if they were cut from the same cloth as the Greyjoys.

* * *

 

The one redeeming quality Jon found in Theon was that his parties started on time. Around nine, once the dinner from the seven hells was over, people started steadily filtering through the door at a constant pace. It was at that point that Jon finished his beer and fixed himself a whiskey and Coke. Sansa and Jeyne had fixed themselves mixed drinks as well, and Jon found himself watching them pour carefully, and then again as they capped the vodka and rum, putting them back on the counter. They flitted off without a thought, and Jon hid the bottles out of reach of all the other partygoers, for fear of someone slipping something into them. He wasn’t too concerned with his whiskey.

Jon Snow found himself a quiet corner in the spacious living area where he could observe without being part of the crush of bodies. He wasn’t really sure why he agreed to come—well, he did know, he didn’t want to be left alone at the Stark residence, especially with Arya going out as well—he didn’t really like parties, or anything involving anywhere near this many people.

At least he thought he was in the clear from not seeing anyone he knew, but that idea went out the window about an hour and a half into the party when he saw a flash of red hair move from the foyer into the kitchen. At first, with the dim lighting and the colored strobe lights he thought it was Sansa—the hair looked dark red, until the strobe light turned a more natural color and he realized the hair was more orange than red and it was curly.

He knew that hair. It belonged to Ygritte. He watched as the hair, and the person attached to it, turned and headed for the living room. Jon, glass in hand, quickly skirted around the edge of the room until he could disappear upstairs, away from the orange hair.

He slipped along the wall, trying his best not to touch the bodies milling about on the steps. He hadn’t seen Sansa or Jeyne in a while and wanted to look for them, as he hadn’t seen Theon lately either. Jon passed the door that had the Starks sticky note on it, and went back, to make sure their stuff was safe and no one was in the room. All he found was the sweater Sansa had been wearing earlier thrown on the closest bed. He was hoping she had something besides a bra on under the sweater. Since she wasn’t in there, he thought she was probably fine.

He made his way passed other doors with other sticky notes to the opening at the end, which was like a second living room. It was there he found Jeyne and Sansa. He found out what she had on under the sweater: some green shirt thing that left her stomach bare. It was better than he was expecting. They were sitting on the floor in a circle with a deck of cards and a shot glass in the middle. Theon was also in the circle. Jon didn’t like it. Behind where Sansa sat was a sofa that was pressed against the wall, pushed to make room for the game.

“Need a break from the music,” he explained to Sansa as he slipped behind her to sit on it. She scooted closer to Jeyne until their knees were touching.

“Wanna play? There’s room.” Sansa patted the space she’d just made.

“No, thanks. I’ll just watch.” Jon shifted his legs when Sansa moved back, but aside from pulling them onto the sofa there was no where to put them where Sansa wouldn’t be all but leaning against them. Jon told himself it was just because it was cramped. Sansa wasn’t intentionally leaning against him.

He found himself learning a lot about all the people playing, stuff he may not want to know about any of them. He learned that there wasn’t a whole lot Theon has never done, but there seemed to be quite a bit that Sansa and Jeyne hadn’t; they’re answers and statements were much different in style than those of the men in the circle. He found himself ignoring his drink more and more every time Sansa had to take a drink. It appeared she had to drink more often than anyone else.

Once the circle of cards was broken by one of the girls who wasn’t Jeyne or Sansa, she took the shot in the center, the group disbursed. The girls went to go get drink refills. The guys talked about going to find a few more people to start a poker game for the last stretch before midnight. Sansa asked if he wanted to go with them, go find some other group of people, another game to play, but he declined. Ygritte was down there still, and he was safe up here.

Another ten minutes or so passed and a new game started where Sansa’s group’s had ended, this one louder and made up entirely of people he didn’t know. Jon abandoned his seat, again in search of some place relatively quiet. He started back for the stairs, thinking maybe there was another room on the first floor he didn’t notice before, or maybe one no one else noticed. On the stairs though, was Ygritte, starting up the steps. Panicking, Jon ducked into the Starks’ room and shut the door quickly behind him.

Across the room was a large window he hadn’t noticed in the brief time he’d spent in it previously. Crossing quickly, just in case Ygritte barreled into the room, he lifted the sash and saw that the roof outside the window was nice and flat. Grabbing his pea coat, he climbed out and closed the window most of the way, sitting on the roof in the silence in the cold with only the stars and the moon for company. It was the least alone he had felt all night.

He wasn’t out there very long when he heard the door open, loud noise spilling into the room and floating out the gap he’d left in the window. The door started to squeak shut again, but something stopped who ever was controlling the door. Jon wanted to turn and look who was invading the Starks’ room, but he didn’t want to draw attention to the window. He could hear quiet feet padding on the soft carpet, and he figured it was probably a lone person looking for some peace, just as he was. Jon had gone back to staring at the moon—nearly full and brighter than he thought it ever was when he’d looked at the moon in the past, when the window beside him was lifted up.

“Jon? What are you doing out here?” Sansa’s head asked, poking out into the cold.

“Just getting some air,” he responded, taking a sip of the drink he had been cradling between his knees. To his surprise, Sansa crawled out beside him once she’d grabbed her coat.

“The air is stale in there,” Sansa explained, answered his unasked question with what almost looked like a wink. If he wasn’t so cold he might have flushed. “How’s your New Year’s Eve going? Having fun?” she asked, bumping her shoulder against his.

“All right. I’ve had worse.”

He didn’t want to tell her this was one of the few New Year’s he had ushered in with people. It was usually either him alone or him at one of the homes where there were others in the house but he was alone. For two years it had been rung in with Ygritte, but he didn’t really want to think about that, especially with her so close—probably only separated by a few walls at most. His response made Sansa look sad though, for some reason, so he quickly amended his statement.

“This is definitely in my top five.” That was true enough at least, but that didn’t seem to appease her the way he thought it would. She took a drink and he followed suit—he didn’t know how to make conversation with her, even with five drinks in his system.

“I have a question for you,” she stated, turning to face him fully. Jon took another drink before nodding. “The book I got you for Christmas?” Jon nodded.

He’d read it all the way through already. It didn’t have a lot of new information, but books on the subject rarely did for him anymore. But it was the thought that count. She’d found something he’d liked after knowing him—barely—for less than three weeks and managed to give him the best gifts he’d ever received, and he wasn’t exaggerating. He didn’t know how to tell her that without making either of them uncomfortable though, so he stuck to his nodding.

“I read it before I gave it to you. I thought it would help me understand the map I was making,” she continued. That didn’t surprise him—she had mentioned things when he, Robb, and Ned were talking that made it sound like she had read up on the subject. “And there was this chapter on, em, on illegitimate children during the time of the Rebellion?” Jon took a long swig of his drink, thankful this one was not as proportioned as his earlier ones—it was more whiskey than Coke. He knew where she was going with this. “ _Snow_ was one of the names they used, for illegitimate children from the North.” She had yet to ask her question. “Does your name come from there? Was one of your ancestors illegitimate?” Sansa’s version of the question was more polite than the other versions he’d been asked. Given what he was studying, he was asked that question often, usually either thinly veiled or with a rude sneer. Sometimes he responded with curt answers, sometimes with a fuck off, and once with a fist.

“Might be. I don’t know my ancestry. Sometime in the last century, when Westeros was modernizing and class and House names were becoming less of big deal, bastards became less of a big deal too. The orphanages took the old names for bastards to use for foundlings—do you know what those are?” Sansa shook her head, and Jon wanted to sigh but telling her about his childhood wasn’t as bad as it usually was, those awkward moments it had ever come up in conversation. It was almost like talking to Robb, but somehow slightly easier. “Abandoned babies with no medical histories, no names, no families. The orphanages adapted the names for the regions and use them for foundlings now. Babies found down by KLU would be Waters, in the Riverlands Rivers, in the Westerlands Hill, in the North Snow. In the far North, beyond the Wall it’s Frost.”

 _Frost,_ that was Ygritte’s surname. She was a foundling too. He forgot about that. He hadn’t thought about her, or that, in two years.

“So…” Sansa paused, her eyes studying his face. “You’re a foundling?” He nodded slowly.

It was part of his identity that he could never get rid of, because of his surname. Because he was never adopted, never had a real family name. She didn’t look at him with the pity he usually got when he shared that piece of information, but he couldn’t discern what exactly her expression was. After a few minutes of silence that Jon found to be mildly uncomfortable that he spent sipping his drink quicker than he normally would for something to do, Sansa posed another question.

“Are you sure you just came out here for air? You’re not bearing the cold for another reason?” It was the whiskey that answered for him this time. He almost argued about the cold. He was wearing the sweater Catelyn had knitted him and it was far warmer than anything else he owned. He never thought that homemade knitted apparel could be this warm, never having received anything homemade—knitted or not—in his life. He still hadn’t thanked her properly for it. He didn’t know how. It was worse than thanking Sansa for the map.

“My ex-girlfriend is here. I don’t want to run into her. Figured it was safe out here,” Jon told her honestly. Sansa didn’t bother hiding her expression of surprise, which quickly shifted into a massive grin that overtook her whole face.

“You have an ex-girlfriend?” Her voice was higher than normal, due to her grin, and she almost looked proud of him. “How long did you date?”

“For the first two years of ungrad. We were two Northerners in the capital that didn’t know anybody. We kind of latched onto each other and didn’t let go.”

Jon remembered locking eyes with her at orientation, hearing her accent, labeling her as from farther north than he was. He heard her crack a joke about the weather and he was the only one who laughed, being the only other person from the North. Had they met anywhere else her brusque nature, crude humor, and sarcastic responses to almost everything would have scared him away, but in the capital her attitude reminded him of the North, of the cruel weather, and it made him love her.

He only loved her more when he found out her surname was Frost, that she was a foundling too.

She had also never had a family. He thought they could be each other’s family, but her philosophy about being a foundling was much different than his own. She thought it made them free—gave them wings. He thought it made them rudderless, in need of roots to hold them down. It’s what eventually caused them to break up. He wanted a family, a wife and kids at some point. She thought she was Peter Pan and would never grow up. He didn’t tell Sansa all of this though, because even in his current state he knew that would be over sharing.

“Understandable that you’d be hiding, but why hide out here? Would it really be that bad to run into her?” She was giggly, something Jon often found annoying in girls, but in her it was almost enduring.

“Yes, it would,” he responded, unable to help but laugh with her. They laughed longer than they normally would, given their state and the fact that laughing was warming and they were sitting outside, but eventually the laughing died out. Once it did, Sansa’s face turned serious but her eyes didn’t leave his face. She appeared as if she was studying him intently. “What?” he asked when he began to grow uncomfortable under her gaze.

“I’m taking a life drawing class next semester. They’re always looking for models—male models especially. You’d be good for it,” she told him with a straight face. This time the cold couldn’t fight back his blush and his cheeks turned red, he was sure.

“No, no, I’m not…” Jon tried to play it off, play it down.

“No, you would be! You’re a great subject. You have so many facial expressions. You’re about all I’ve drawn since we’ve gotten to Winterfell. Remind me tomorrow, I’ll show you.”

Even in the dim light, he saw her skin turn a shade pinker and he realized she was being honest. She thought he would be a good model for her class— _and_ she’d sketched him in her book she always carried. That almost made him blush more than the modeling suggestion. She thought he was worth capturing with her talent. He found himself smiling and Sansa’s finger flew to his face, pointing to his mouth.

“That! That right there! That smile! I’ve been trying to draw it since the first time I saw it. Your lips turn down even though your smiling but you look so happy, like you’re about to burst into laughter,” she explained, her voice high, smile wide, eyes bright and sparkling. Jon didn’t think anyone had ever paid so much attention to him. Had cared enough to pay that much attention to him to know everything she did, and they’d only known each other for a handful of weeks.

They started talking about her art then, some pieces she was proud of and some funny stories about the ones she wasn’t. Somehow in the midst of that conversation she started telling him about her roommates.

She rented a house with four or five other people. She said the boyfriend of the girl who lived upstairs was there so often that Sansa wasn’t sure if he was on the lease or not. She lived in the big green house with gold trim that was right on the edge of campus. Jon knew what house she was talking about—he probably walked past it twice a day on his way to and from classes, back to his own apartment that was closer to downtown. It was a big house, three floors.

She told him about Dany and Drogo, who lived on the third floor. She said she didn’t see them much, usually only in passing and sometimes on weekends when they all went to the pubs. Sansa and her friend Margaery lived on the second, and Margaery’s brother, Loras, and one of his friends lived on the first floor. Sansa told him about how sometimes her and Margaery could hear the loud passions of Dany and Drogo, both hateful and loving. Jon laughed with her on that. After telling him one highly detailed story about Margaery walking in on Loras with someone in his bed and the war that started between them, she asked if he had any roommates.

“Not this year. I did for undergrad—no one I actually became friends with though.”

“Where do you live?”

“I rent an apartment over by The Crooked Mane.”

“We go there almost every weekend!” she exclaimed.

Jon hadn’t been there often, but he still wondered if they’d ever seen each other there. It was a popular pub, especially with the undergads. It was a cleaner place than some of the others that were a bit farther from campus. He thought he would have remembered seeing her, but he rarely paid any attention to groups of drunk girls. He generally found them loud and obnoxious. Jon was also sure that he would have steered clear away from a beautiful, drunk, loud redhead, even if she was completely different from Ygritte.

“You should come out with us sometime! Here, give me your number. When school starts back up we can meet up.” She was speaking in that giddy, fast tone again and Jon thought her smile was infectious. He didn’t even hesitate or pause to think when she passed her phone over. He entered his number, wondering if she’d ever actually use it. “I’ll give you mine too.” She held her hand out expectantly for his phone. This was new, different. He’d give his numbers to girls before, girls after Ygritte, but he’d rarely received phone numbers from girls. Though he had to stop thinking of Sansa as one of the girls he’d given his number out to and more of _she’s Robb’s little sister._

They chatted about The Crooked Mane, which drinks they liked, what nights or weekends had the better bartenders, and Jon told her about the secret menu they had. If you knew how to order, they had more than just what was on their one-sided food menu. The conversation slipped to areas that Jon considered much safer, where it was easier to remember that Sansa was Robb’s sister, where she was just another mate to talk about pubs and drinking with. Jon thought it was nice, having a female friend where there was no possibility of anything more happening. He thought it might make him less nervous around women, if he had a friend like Sansa.

That idea spiraled away soon after Sansa had finished the drink she’d brought out with her though.

“I’m going in. I’m out,” she told him, showing him her empty cup. “Want me to bring you something?” Sansa motioned to his own cup, which was also empty.

“No, thanks.” She nodded and crawled back through the window. She wasn’t gone more than a minute when she rejoined him outside, sans cup. He thought she’d left the door open, because he could hear music and vague chanting. Sansa sat next to him, their hips touching, and showed him her phone.

“Fifteen seconds to midnight.” They watched the seconds tick down, the faint chanting echoing the clock, and watched as Sansa’s phone changed to 12:00 AM. “Happy New Year, Jon Snow,” Sansa Stark murmured before leaning over and gently kissing him on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be fooled. This is still slow burn.


	7. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter break is over and everyone's back at KLU

The ride back to KLU at the end of break didn’t feel near as long as the ride up. Sansa sat in the back seat again, her sketchbook balanced on her knees, and she was trying to draw the way Jon’s hands rested on the center arm rest.

She had hoped to show him one of her completed sketches at some point in the month after New Year’s that they’d spent in the Stark’s cottage, but there was never a moment when she was around him without Robb, Arya, or Catelyn. Sansa was kind of irritated about it, the quiet irritation you feel deep and low that you don’t usually act on.

Maybe that was why she did it. Why she ripped out that first sketch she did, of Jon leaning against Robb’s car when they first met. Why she signed her name to the corner, why she wrote her number with _the offer still stands_ on the back. Why she folded it and slipped it into Jon Snow’s backpack that was sitting next to her in the backseat. It was her small act of rebellion—or, one of them rather.

Her other rebellious act was kissing Jon Snow on New Year’s. She didn’t really mean anything by it; it wasn’t supposed to be a romantic kiss, just a soft peck. She did it because she wanted to kiss someone on New Year’s and because Jon was a safe person to kiss, and because she thought Jon was someone who deserved to be kissed on New Year’s. It was a nice kiss, soft and warm, and she’d disappeared through the window before he could say anything.

* * *

 

“Do you need help carrying anything?” Robb asked as he unloaded the trunk of the car of Sansa’s bags. They were idling in the street outside her house.

“Nope. I’ve got everything. See you Robb. Bye Jon!” Sansa called to the man through the window before shouldering her two bags and rolling the third up the slippery walkway. Sansa heard the car drive away after she’d stepped through the doorway, and wondered if Jon would text her when he found her sketch.

* * *

 

Two weeks later Sansa still hadn’t heard from Jon, and she had yet to work up the courage to text him herself. She had half hoped that when she walked into her life drawing class, he’d be the model but it was a woman they’d be drawing, at least for the first half of the class, according to the professor.

Margaery and Loras were planning a big night out for the first real weekend of the spring semester. Dany and Drogo were coming, and Margaery had invited some other girls she knew as well. Sansa almost texted Jon then, since they were going to The Crooked Mane, but she didn’t. She figured at this point, if he liked the sketch he would’ve texted her by now. She settled on fate deciding whether or not they ran into each other again.

Still, she hoped. She dressed up a little more than if she were just going out with her friends. Sansa wore more date attire than club attire, but Margaery didn’t comment so Sansa figured it didn’t look too strange. One of Loras’s friends drove Margaery, Sansa, Mya, and Loras, while Dany and Drogo drove separately in Drogo’s car. Loras’s friend didn’t drink, so he was going to drive everyone back, and Sansa didn’t really feel the need to ask Dany or Drogo how they were getting home.

They were both older than she was, and she was sort of scared of them. Sansa was tall, but Drogo was huge, with tattoos and wore leather. Dany was well over a foot shorter than he was, but Sansa thought she was scarier. She felt like a baby next to Dany, even though Sansa was a good six inches taller. Dany was tough, equal parts bark and bite, and could easily pull her boyfriend out of the bar fights he occasionally got himself into. She had such a commanding presence that Sansa wished she could imitate it. Heads turned when Dany entered a room, and almost as many turned when Margaery entered.

The Crooked Mane was packed when Sansa’s group of friends entered. Apparently everyone had the same idea, plus it was a Friday night. Except for Jon Snow, from what Sansa could see. She tried not to feel disappointed, because it wasn’t like they had plans to meet up; she just thought there was a possibility of him happening to be there, even though she’d never seen him there before.

The group followed Drogo to a table, as he could cut through the crowd the easiest. Margaery cut off at the bar to grab drinks for everyone, and Sansa headed straight for the dance floor. She didn’t really want to sit at a table with two people who scared her, one she didn’t know, and her best friend’s brother and his boyfriend without her best friend or any alcohol in her system.

The dance floor was mostly made up of girls, so Sansa felt safe in the center of the pit without friends around her. She danced three, maybe four songs before she saw Margaery’s brown hair bob across the floor and Sansa decided it was safe to head to the table. Her best friend had charmed one of the boys who worked there to carry the tray over for her, and he was leaving as Sansa slid into the chair next to Margaery.

“These are the house special tonight. They’re called Tears.” She put a fish bowl glass filled with lavender liquid in front of everyone except for Dany and Drogo. They escaped having Margaery order for them and she put dark pint glasses in front of them instead.

“What’s in this?” Sansa asked, sniffing hers. It didn’t smell like much, but she’d never seen a purple drink before.

“Dunno. They’re specials. Surprises. Tastes good, though,” Margaery informed her, taking a large drink out of hers. Sansa followed suit; the drink was fruitier than she was expecting, given it didn’t smell fruity. She couldn’t taste the alcohol at all. Sansa took another gulp, testing it a second time to see if her taste buds had tricked her the first. Nope, no alcohol taste, only fruity. And she couldn’t even name the fruits it tasted like. She saw Dany lean over and look at Loras’s fish bowl. Sansa watched as confusion flitted over Dany’s features but then they settled on indifferent. She almost asked what made Dany look confused but then Margaery was tugging her out to the dance floor.

They danced back in the middle of the mob, Sansa and Margaery were whirling around each other while the masses were whirling around them. Sansa felt like she was in a maelstrom, the eye of the storm, while everyone around her carried her in dizzying circles.

The circles seemed to spin her faster every time she left the floor for her drink. She wasn’t concerned about anyone putting anything in it, not with Drogo sitting at the table, but she had a feeling that the Tears were hitting her harder than her usual drinks. She wondered what exactly was in the drink, she’d guessed it was some form of vodka but after two drinks she started to think it might be something else—something stronger. Or a mix of somethings, but she was sure if it was anything stronger than a flavored vodka or two it would actually taste like alcohol instead of a fruit punch.

Margaery kept supplying the table with news ones once the glasses were empty, so Sansa wasn’t sure how many she’d had. She thought it was four, but the drinks and songs and dances were all starting to blur together. She just knew that she had to drag Margaery to the bathroom to pee every four songs. She knew that meant she was probably past tipsy—she only had to pee this often when she was drunk, but she was cheery drunk so she really didn’t care.

Margaery, Sansa, and Mya danced in a tight little ring, careful to keep the leering men away from each other. At some point, Sansa wasn’t sure how long they’d been there or how many of the Tears she’d had, but she’d somehow lost track of Mya. Sansa was pretty sure she’d just been dancing next to her, but the girl at her side was tall and blonde and definitely not Mya.

“Where’d Mya go?” Sansa shouted to Margaery, having to focus to get her words to come out correctly.

“Found someone to go home with!” Margaery yelled back, dancing under the flashing lights, bouncing to the beat. Sansa nodded, deciding words were too hard at the moment, what with the Tears, the music, and the moving.

Sometime later, Sansa wasn’t sure, Dany and Drogo joined them dancing, and Sansa was pretty sure Loras and his friend were close by too. They spun together, switching partners Sansa dancing with Loras and his friend, then Dany, then Drogo, and back to Margaery. Drogo had brought them their drinks to have on the dance floor, and Sansa thought she might be spilling hers a little, but she didn’t care and was still drinking it like it was liquid candy.

 

A fresh drink appeared in her hand…

 

…Margaery was leading her to the bathroom by the hand…

 

…They were back in the middle of the dance floor…

 

…She couldn’t see Loras or his friend…

 

…Sansa kept her eyes on Drogo because he was easy to see…

 

…Margaery was next to her, dancing…

 

…Then she wasn’t.

 

“Margaery?” Sansa called, spinning, looking for her best friend. At first it was loud, just looking around her, but then it was frantic, pushing through bodies, looking for anyone familiar. She looked for Drogo, who was usually easy to spot, but couldn’t see him. Everyone was blurry, fuzzy, and her body tingled but not in the good way. In the way that meant she was drunker than she liked to be, with numbing limbs.

Sansa stumbled from the dance floor, looking for the table they had occupied at the start of the night, but she didn’t recognize any of the men sitting there. She stumbled back to the bathroom, thinking Margaery may have gone in there, but all the women weren’t Margaery or Dany. Sansa was starting to panic, so she locked herself in a stall and unlocked her phone after a few tries. She scrolled through her contacts, blinking and moving her phone closer to her face to force the letters into focus.

She was looking for Margaery’s name, but a shorter one came up first. _Jon_. She clicked it without thinking. The phone didn’t even ring twice before she heard his voice on the other end.

“’Lo?”

“Jon, it’s Sansa I’m at the Crooked Mane and I can’t find anyone I know,” she whispered quickly into the phone. The bathroom was quieter than the rest of the club but the pulse of music was still loud and the other women’s words echoed around against the tile. Sansa wasn’t actually sure if Jon understood any of what she said.

“Sansa? You’re where?” Sansa decided sentences weren’t worth it.

“Crooked Mane.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Bathroom.”

“Don’t move. I’m on my way.”

Sansa thought she heard the line click off so she held her phone in front of her, waiting for it to light up again so she knew when he was there. She didn’t have to wait long, not that she could tell, but it didn’t feel like much time when her phone lit up with his name. She could see it was a text but she didn’t bother to open it because she knew she couldn’t read it.

Instead, Sansa tripped her way out and hoped he was near by. She didn’t think she’d be able to find him if he was closer to the front. She opened the door and ran directly into a solid body. Sansa immediately started to back into the bathroom, afraid of whoever was lurking outside the women’s bathroom.

“Sansa, it’s me. It’s Jon.” His arm reached out for her and she easily fell into his chest. “C’mon.”

He wrapped his arms around her and half carried her to the door. Once they were outside, Sansa’s stumbling combined with the occasional slick patches of ice made it harder for her to walk than it had inside the Crooked Mane.

“I’m going to carry you, all right? Hang on.” Sansa heard what he said but it didn’t register until she was in the air and he was carrying her, holding her tightly to his chest. Sansa thought she might be drifting off, what with all the Tears, the hours dancing, and the sway of Jon Snow carrying her, but a shout near by forced her eyes back open.

“OI. Put her down!” Sansa thought she saw Dany in front of her, blocking Jon’s path. Sansa felt the world tip, her feet touching the ground and Jon’s hands moving to her sides, steadying her. “We’ve been looking for you! We thought you left with Margaery but then Drogo saw _him_ leaving with you.”

“S’kay. I called ‘im,” Sansa tried to explain, leaning back into Jon’s sturdiness for support.

“She called me. I’m a friend of her brother’s. She thought she was alone in the club. I live in that building,” Jon explained, pointing. “I’m not trying to do anything besides get her somewhere safe.”

“How do I know you’re not just spinning some tale?” Dany challenged. Sansa felt herself being shifted as Jon pulled something from his pocket.

“Check my call log. She called me.” She watched a lit object being passed and Dany’s face colored by the object. “I’m just trying to keep her safe. Her brother would kill me if anything happened to her, doubly so if I were the one doing it. Swear on the gods.”

“She’s coming with us, you realize?” Dany stepped towards Sansa, but Sansa pushed herself closer to Jon.

“I’m fine with Jon,” she tried to say, but she was pretty sure her point didn’t come across correctly. “Fine,” she reiterated. “Safe. Jon’s safe.”

“Anything bad happens to her and I kill you. With fire. Painfully.”

“Understood.” Sansa saw Dany stare at them for a moment longer before joining Drogo and Sansa was lifted into Jon’s arms again.

“Thanks,” Sansa murmured to his chest. She heard a rumble of reply but she was drifting off again.

Her eyes were struck by the bright light of the apartment building, even when closed. She screwed them shut tighter and turned into Jon more. The movements of the elevator made her stomach roll and she thought she felt the Tears coming up, but the drinks stayed down.

“Just at the end of this hall. Not much further,” Jon murmured reassuringly, his arms still holding her to his chest. He held her carefully while unlocking his door, using his feet to close it, and flipped on the light with his elbow. Jon set her down so she was standing but as soon as she was righted she felt the Tears swell up again.

“Jon? I think I’m…” Sansa began but Jon must had seen it coming because he quickly shuffled her into the bathroom that was just five feet from the door, and helped her kneel in front of the toilet.

Sansa retched into the toilet, filling it with purple, while real tears streamed from her eyes. When her stomach was emptied, she saw Jon crouching next to her with a cup of water. She leaned against the tub and sipped the water, keeping her eyes closed against the bright white of the bathroom. She wasn’t feeling sober but at least with out the music, lights, and other bodies she could focus a little more. “Thanks,” she whispered, eyes still closed. Her words still weren’t clear but at least they were intelligible.

“I brought you something to change into. Are you okay alone?” Sansa started to stand but did it too quickly and stumbled into Jon for balance.

“Can you help?” She held onto him while he leaned down to slip her shoes off her feet. Once her feet were flat she pulled her top off, not bothering to cover anything. Jon held the t-shirt for her to slip her arms into and over her head easily. She rolled her leggings down, clinging to Jon as she stepped out and into the sweatpants he offered. She unclasped her bra and pulled it out from under the shirt. He replaced the cup of water in her hand and directed her back through the living room and into the other room.

“Here, lay down. Water’s right here. There’s a bucket here too, if you need it. Are you all right?” Sansa fell into the bed, pulling the sheets and blankets up to her shoulders, arm stuffed under the pillow. She thought she heard Jon say something else but she was asleep before she could process what it had been.

* * *

 

Sansa woke several times in the morning, but each time she drifted back to sleep after repositioning herself or sipping the water that was next to the bed. It wasn’t until much later in the morning did she actually stay awake. She rolled over to stare at the wall and then sat bolt upright when she realized it wasn’t her wall. She regretted that decision instantly when her head spun. She held her head until she’d steadied and then cautiously moved to step out of the bed. Sansa creaked the door open slowly, not sure who or what would be on the other side.

“Oh, erm. Hi,” Sansa blurted when she came face to face with Jon.

“Hi. How’re you feeling?” He had stood when she’d entered and his hand was rubbing the back of his neck, under his curls.

“Better than I was last night I’d guess. How’d you end up taking care of me?” Sansa perched herself on the arm of the couch while Jon stood awkwardly a few feet away, just between the living room and kitchen. His eyebrows quirked up.

“You don’t remember?” Sansa shook her head slowly, careful to not cause her headache to reemerge.

“I remember going out with Margaery and everyone, and Margaery ordering us all Tears…”

“Tears? Is that a new drink?”

“It was the special last night. They’re fruity and purple.” Jon looked concerned, similar to how Sansa remembered Dany’s face looking when the drinks appeared. “We danced a lot. Not much past that.”

“You called me last night. You were hiding in the bathroom because you couldn’t find anyone you’d come with.”

“You came to get me?”

“You were scared,” Jon offered as explanation with a shrug. “A blonde woman thought I was trying to abduct you though.”

“Dany?” Jon shrugged again.

“She saw me carry you out and threated to kill me if you got hurt. You might want to call her and tell her you’re okay.” Sansa nodded, deciding not to question Dany coming to her rescue.

“Did I change into this?” She indicated to the sweats and t-shirt.

“Ehm. With help, yeah. You asked me to keep you balanced. I didn’t see anything though.” Sansa nodded again, trusting that Jon was being honest. He didn’t seem like the type to take advantage of a situation like that as Sansa remembered him blushing about using her bathroom back at the Stark cottage. “Are you hungry? I have toast, and eggs, and cereal…” He trailed off, watching her expression expectantly.

“Toast, please?”

He nodded and quickly stepped into the small kitchen, appearing relieved to have something to do. Sansa stayed where she was, quickly shooting a text to Margaery to let her know where she was.

Once the text sent, Sansa lifted her eye to watch him work and worried her thumbnail with her teeth. She hoped she hadn’t said anything stupid last night, but Jon didn’t seem to be acting any more awkward than normal, so she found that reassuring.

“I hope I didn’t ruin your night last night. I’m sure rescuing a drunk girl from the bathroom wasn’t what you had planned at…” Sansa paused to check her phone to see what time it had been when she called him. “Twelve thirty in the morning?” Jon turned to face her, leaning his back against the counter in front of the toaster.

“No, I’m glad you called. I wouldn’t want you stuck and scared in the Crooked Mane’s bathroom.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal and Sansa thought she felt her cheeks warm.

“So I didn’t interrupt anything?” Sansa tried again, mostly to alleviate her guilt of having him rescue her, but she also wanted him to say he’d been drowning in school work, he hadn’t even had time to fully unpack everything from his trip to Winterfell. She hoped that was why he never texted her about her drawing of him, or contacted her at all.

“Just some studying.” Sansa wasn’t sure if that made her feel any better about him not contacting her. He would rather be studying at 12:30 in the morning instead of hanging out with anyone—not her specifically, but anyone. She wondered if that was normal for him, being alone so often. She wondered if her being here was a nuisance or if he enjoyed having another person in the apartment with him. She wasn’t sure which one she’d rather be, but she was grateful for his help all the same. “Here you go.” He offered her a plate with buttered toast. “I have coffee too, if you want some?”

“No, thanks. Just toast.” Sansa gingerly took a bite and was surprised at how great bland, buttered toast tasted.

Jon swept up the plate as soon as she was done, and Sansa stood, drifting toward where her jacket and shoes were by the door. She got the feeling she may be more nuisance than welcomed company. “I don’t remember if I thanked you last night, but thank you so much for coming to rescue me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t answered.”

“Anytime,” Jon offered quietly with a shrug. “Do you need someone to walk home with you?”

“No, thanks. I texted Margaery to come pick me up. Thanks again Jon. See you around.” Sansa flashed a smile before stepping out of Jon Snow’s apartment and down the stairs to where Margaery was waiting in Loras’s car.

Sansa figured what happened on New Year’s Eve was a one off, not just the kiss but them talking like they were friends. She realized to Jon she was probably just Robb’s little sister who couldn’t hold her alcohol. She was all right with it, not being friends with Jon, she was just glad she had a person who would come rescue her at one in the morning if necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do get to see in Jon's chapter why he hasn't contacted her or said anything about the sketch she gave him, don't worry.


	8. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation tomorrow and won't be back until Sunday. I'm going to try to post another chapter tonight and at least one more tomorrow before I leave. Hopefully that'll get you guys through until Sunday.

Once the door had fully shut behind Sansa, Jon collapsed on the sofa that had come with the apartment. He was expecting the tension he’d been feeling since the phone call to leave his body, and it did, some of it, but he wasn’t as relaxed as he was expecting to be. Jon sighed, resting his head gently on the back of the sofa.

He knew he should either get up and shower—get started with his day, or see if he could sleep for a few hours. He hadn’t fallen asleep until nearly two. He had sat up anxiously, expecting to hear retching or panic from Sansa until he finally drifted off, but even after that he didn’t get the greatest sleep on the sofa. It was lumpy, too short, and the height of the armrest caused a crick in his neck. The sun coming through the windows woke him early as well, after he got only four hours of shitty sleep. He then waited anxiously for Sansa to get up. He wasn’t sure if he was because he wanted to make sure she was okay, or because he didn’t know what to do with a girl sleeping in his apartment.

He got up, intending to go sleep for an hour or two, but once he stepped into his room, he was confronted by the dented pillow and crumpled sheets, looking heavily slept in. He decided showering was definitely a better idea than trying to sleep in the exact spot Sansa had slept in.

Before he showered though, he sent Robb a text, first asking if he wanted to meet up to work on some research, but also suggesting checking up on Sansa at some point. He would have texted Sansa himself, but he was self-conscious about interacting with girls, especially pretty ones like Sansa that he typically stayed away from.

Except Sansa wasn’t like the other girls he typically stayed away from, because those girls would have never left that drawing of him in his backpack. The one he didn’t know what to do with. He had the drawing in his desk and he looked at it far more often that he’d like to admit, but he never said anything to her about it. He almost did, more times than he could count. He’d started texts to her that he never sent, but something stopped him every time.

Jon forced himself to think of something other than Sansa before getting in the shower.

* * *

 

A few hours later, Robb showed up after Jon had made the executive decision that he needed to wash his sheets.

“Checked on Sansa. She’s a little hung over and pissed at Margaery from what I saw, but otherwise fine. Why’d you want me to check up on her?” Robb asked once he was four steps into the apartment.

“Oh, em. She called me last night. She couldn’t find anyone she knew and locked herself in the bathroom,” Jon explained hesitantly, not sure how to admit that his best friend’s little sister had slept in his bed last night.

“No wonder she’s pissed. Well, thanks for looking out for her. Glad I’m not the only one around to keep an eye on her anymore.” Robb shrugged and quickly moved the conversation to the research they needed work on for one of their classes.

Jon felt the rest of the tension in his body leave quickly and he realized the tension hadn’t been just nervous energy from Sansa sleeping in the other room, but also because she was Robb’s little sister and he didn’t want Robb to think anything less than innocent was going on between them. Robb was his family now, and he was nearly sick with the thought of losing that. He also realized Robb was the reason he never responded to Sansa’s drawing—he didn’t want to do anything to risk his friendship with Robb. Sansa was great, funny, smart, beautiful, but he couldn’t lose Robb.

They worked on coursework for a class, comparing some notes they had already from various other assignments so that they wouldn’t be starting from complete scratch. Once they’d started talking about battles and history, Jon completely stopped thinking about Sansa. He stopped worrying about whether Robb would somehow found out that Sansa had slept in his bed and how that would effect their relationship.

Even when they stopped talking about history, calling and ordering food from the place down the street that delivered for no extra charge he still didn’t think about Sansa. It wasn’t until Robb left around eight and Jon was confronted with his sheets that he needed to put on his bed. That was when he thought about Sansa again.

Stalling, he opened his phone, looking for something to distract him—an article, a book title to look for, a new TV show, a band, anything really. What he saw instead was a text from Sansa. _Thanks again for saving me last night. And sending Robb to check on me. It was very sweet._

He stared at the screen, wondering how to respond. He didn’t think this conversation could lead anywhere that could ruin his friendship with Robb. Robb, who still didn’t know about New Year’s Eve. When he and Sansa kissed. At least, he was pretty sure they’d kissed. They’d never gotten a chance to talk about it after and part of him wondered if it hadn’t just been a dream.

 **Anytime** , he responded, willing the evening of that party to leave his mind.

He threw his phone on the couch in the living room and decided making his bed would be better than overthinking his texts to Sansa. He made his bed without thinking about her, surprisingly, but he did again as soon as the bed was made. He was remembering her reddish hair on the dark pillowcase, a stark contrast with her pale skin.

Jon strode out of the room, needing to be away from his bed, but he walked out just in time to see Sansa’s name flash across her phone screen. He stared at his phone for a long minute before swiping the text open.

 _I hope your day wasn’t ruined by me putting you out and forcing you to sleep on the couch. You’re probably thrilled to be sleeping in your bed tonight._ She sent a little smiley face with it.

Jon flopped down on the couch before responding, running his fingers through his curls, pushing them out of his face for them only to bounce forward again.

**No, don’t worry about it. My day was fine. How was yours? I hope your day wasn’t ruined by waking up hung over in a strange apartment** _._

He started at the words after he’d sent them and realized it could be taken the wrong way out of context and he regretted sending it.

 _Not at all. It was good to see you again Jon,_ she sent, and he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. He thought it felt like the one that Sansa had talked about on New Year’s.

**Thanks. It was good to see you too. Thanks, by the way. For the drawing. It’s really good. I like it a lot.**

He felt bad for not responding about that for two weeks, but Robb was the Stark that was the most important to him, or he would be, except Sansa felt like family too, and that was a good feeling.

_You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it. I’ve got others too, if you’re interested._

He didn’t know how to respond to that. It felt too close to flirting for comfort, so he put his phone down again, forcing himself away from it. He walked a loop of his living room and kitchen a few times, trying to formulate a reply, and he kept thinking of Sansa’s earnest face that was always so full of unguarded emotion. Her heart was so open—she’d never been hurt enough to know to guard it and that made Jon both happy and jealous, because his heart was scarred and behind walls made of brick and mortar. He couldn’t be so open with his emotions the way she was, but at the same time he couldn’t let himself be the one to cause her to lay the foundation. He found himself picking up his phone again.

**Thanks** _._

It was all he could think of that wasn’t rude and wasn’t anywhere near flirting. He also thought it might end the conversation.

He realized he didn’t really want it to though. It was only eight-thirty on a Saturday night and he was bored. He couldn’t find anything to do. He didn’t want to go out and he didn’t want to stay in. He didn’t want to be alone.

_Got any fun plans for tonight? Please tell me you aren’t studying._

He smirked at that. He answered her honestly though, wishing he could say he had something fun to do so that she didn’t get the impression that he was boring and spent all of his free time studying or alone, even though that was exactly what he did.

**No, I’m not studying. I don’t have any fun plans either though.**

_No?_

**No.**

_What’re you doing then? Cleaning? Your apartment looked pretty clean to me._

He laughed at that. It wasn’t clean, it was just bare—empty. He didn’t own enough things for it to get messy.

**I’m not cleaning either. I’m staring at a wall trying to find something to entertain myself with.**

_Come over_ , she send and his heart stopped beating. _We’ve been marathoning movies all day. That has to be better than staring at a wall. We’re about to start a new one. You’d have perfect timing._

He couldn’t, he knew that, but he wanted to. He wanted to be somewhere that wasn’t the shoebox apartment that was one wall away from a studio. He wanted to be with people who wanted to be with him. He stared at the words she had sent, thinking for reason to decline.

Jon wanted to be back at the Stark cottage, where there were always people, even if it was Catelyn. Robb was always there, and if not Robb, it was Sansa or Arya, or even the younger boys. It was full of family and voices and company. The whole month he spent there he didn’t think he’d been alone aside from sleeping and the bathroom. He had thought the trip would suffocate him—he wasn’t used to not being alone, but he found himself deeply missing it as soon as they were back at KLU. Jon Snow wished he could go back to the Stark cottage with the rest of the Stark children and live surrounded by a family. That was why he responded the way he did.

**You sure that would be okay with everyone else?**

_Of course_ came immediately after he sent his question.

**Okay. _I’ll be over in a few minutes_** _._

She responded by texting him her address. He pulled on his jacket and boots, thankful the winters of Kings Landing weren’t anywhere near as cold as the winters of Winterfell. He was pushing the key into the lock when he started second guessing his decision. Jon almost opened the door and shut it behind himself again, but he couldn’t let Sansa down after already agreeing to come over.

A thin dusting of snow covered the world and flakes dropped into Jon’s hair, but it wasn’t actually very cold out. He didn’t bother with a beanie, just shoving his hands in his pockets and heading towards campus, where he remembered seeing the green house with the gold trim on his walk to and from his classes.

The ten-minute walk was enough to coat his hair and shoulders with a film of snow and it was the snowball fight type of snow that packed itself deep into the grooves of his boots. He was knocking them against the steps to the porch when the front door open and he nearly stumbled backwards.

“Oh, wow, you got here fast,” Sansa exclaimed, sounding surprised to see him already on her walk. “Come in out of the snow.” She held the door open to him expectantly.

Something made him want to turn back around, apologize, explain that this was a mistake. Robb was like a brother to him. But then Sansa smiled at him with a look that said _what are you waiting for_ and he could feel the warm air leaking out of the house and he was just so sick of being alone that he smiled back and followed her inside.

“You’ve got snow in your hair,” Sansa laughed quietly, her hands whisper soft as they brushed his curls clean. He felt heat rise in his cheeks. She stood back then, giving him space to step out of his boots and hang his damp jacket on their rack.

She led him up a flight of stairs to the second level that opened into a kitchen big enough to fit his entire apartment in. The island was covered in open bags of junk food and plates piled with cookies.

“We’re curing our hangovers,” Sansa explained with a wave of her hand to the food on her way though the kitchen. Jon trailed behind her, noticing for the first time that she was in flannel pants and a hoodie. He had seen her in her pajamas several times during his month at her parent’s cottage, but he felt like this was different for some reason.

Sansa snagged a cookie before they walked into the adjacent living room where large pieces of furniture angled to face the TV. On an overly large chair was the blonde woman from the night before and the large man she’d been with.

“Dany and Drogo. I think you met Dany last night. And this is Margaery. You met her in Winterfell at The Wolf’s Crown.” The brunette was stretched across the whole sofa, a blanket covering everything except her heart shaped face. A delicate hand escaped to wave before snaking back under.

“So I guess you’re all right then,” Dany commented to Jon.

“I told you he was safe,” Sansa muttered on her way across the room to set up the movie.

Jon tried not to stand awkwardly with his hands in his pockets but that was exactly what he was doing while he waited for her to finish up and tell him where to sit. It wasn’t until the first trailer started and the kitchen light had been turned off that Sansa curled into half of the love seat across the room from the large chair.

“Jon, sit down,” she whispered with a giggle, leaning across the seat to tug on his hand until he fell down next to her. She pulled the blanked off the arm and draped across both of them before settling against the back and turning her full attention to the movie. He mimicked her posture, trying to give her as much space as possible but as soon as the movie actually started, he stopped worrying about Sansa and her friends and whether or not he was sitting too close to her.

Jon enjoyed being in a room full of people the way he had been in Winterfell. He enjoyed the way Drogo and Dany would snort at the cheesy CGI and action scenes. And the way Margaery would predict plot points and criticize the choices made by the fashion department. She kept up a running commentary that Sansa kept shushing but Jon thought it was amusing. He also enjoyed the way Sansa would tense up at the dramatic parts and deflate with relief when everyone escaped or when the hero swept the girl off her feet. He found it sweet and cute and innocent. It made him smile, even though he thought the movie was a little cliché and cheesy with bad CGI. The way Sansa reacted to everything made it seem like it deserved to be nominated for an Oscar.

“All right, we’re done with cheesy movies for tonight. G’night. Clean up the kitchen before you go to bed,” Dany called as she and Drogo headed up stairs.

“They’re gone. My turn to pick,” Margaery cackled, leaping off the couch and to the stack of DVDs on the floor. “Dany wouldn’t let us watch any romantic comedies even though everyone knows that 90s high school rom-coms movies are the best cure for a hangover. Especially ones based on Shakespearean comedies. Sorry if you have an aversion to rom-coms, Jon, but I’ve been waiting all day for this movie,” Margaery threw over her shoulder while plopping the disc into the player.

“I don’t mind them at all,” he said, even though he didn’t really know. He’d watched a few when he was a teenager and some girls in the group homes would watch them on the shared TV but he couldn’t really remember his opinion of them. He never really watched them with Ygritte and afterwards romantic comedies weren’t really what he felt like watching. After Ygritte it was mostly documentaries. Sansa flashed him a grin though at that reply and he decided he definitely didn’t mind romantic comedies.

“1999 Heath Ledger cures all,” Margaery proclaimed as she wrapped herself back in her blanket and reclaimed the sofa. Sansa’s reactions to this movie were similar to the last—tensing up when the boy decides to pay the tough guy to take out the sister, giggling when the tough guy does something surprisingly sweet, sighing when he kisses the girl. At one point Sansa leaned over to him and whispered, pointing to the male lead, who was brooding and wearing dark clothes.

“You look a little like him,” she said, a smile eating up her whole face. He felt himself look surprised before looking confused.

“No,” he laughed, brushing it off.

“Sure you do! The dark curls, dark clothes, broody looks. You totally could have been the broody bad boy of a 90s romantic comedy!” She was giggling now, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes flitting back and forth between him and Heath Ledger. He was shaking his head, still denying but Sansa was still laughing, even once she turned her attention back to the movie.

He glanced at her when she was no longer focused on him, and he felt a soft smile lightened his mouth, one that felt like the smile Heath Ledger gave to the female lead when she wasn’t looking. He adjusted his position so his chin was resting in his hand and his fingers were splayed over his mouth, hiding any other inappropriate or embarrassing reactions that either Sansa or Margaery could have spotted.

It was just after 12:30 when the credits played, zooming out of the band playing on a rooftop. Margaery got up to put the disc back in the case and left the screen on its waiting image.

“I’m going to bed. I got my fix. Night,” she called, taking the blanket from the couch, wrapping it around herself like a cloak, and leaving him and Sansa alone. He opened his mouth to tell her he would head out, let her get to bed as well, but she started talking first.

“I’m up for one more movie. You in?” Her eyes sparkled in the too bright for midnight light that came in from the window. The streetlights were reflecting off the snow, making the world and the room lighter, brighter.

Jon hesitated. Watching movies with others was not the same as watching a movie alone with her, way late into the night. It was the eagerness in her face, her excited expression, that unguarded smile that made him agree to one more movie.

“Do you mind if I put in my favorite?” When he shrugged, said no, he didn’t mind, her smile took up her entire face as she scrambled off the seat to the stack of DVDs on the floor. Once the opening credits started, she curled back up next to him, surprising him, as there were now two perfectly unoccupied pieces of furniture she could sit.

“I’ve never seen this movie—I’ve heard it’s good though,” Jon admitted as soon as the title appeared on the screen. Sansa turned her whole body on the couch to look at him.

“You’ve never seen _The Breakfast Club_?” she asked, incredulous. He shook his head and stunned himself when he started explaining why.

“It’s rated R, right?” Sansa nodded. “Group homes didn’t allow R rated movies. All movies we watched had to be family friendly, or the less family friendly PG-13 ones were watched late at night. They also couldn’t reference sex or drugs in anything more than passing conversation, or showing how bad they could be.” Jon shrugged, knowing his childhood was much different than pretty much everyone else’s—except Ygritte’s—but he somehow knew Sansa wouldn’t judge him for it, or pity him. She didn’t do the awkward eye shift most people did when he mentioned group or foster homes. She smiled instead.

“I’m excited to watch you watch it,” Sansa giggled, her hand landing on his thigh, right above his knee, but it left as soon as he’d registered that it was there. She settled back in, rewinding the first few minutes that they’d missed talking. When she set the remote down, she shifted in how she was sitting, scooting her body just a little closer to his, close enough that he could almost feel her body heat. It distracted him for a solid minute before she twisted to look at him, to check that he was watching. He quirked his lips once at her before redirecting his eyes to the screen—forcing himself to not think about anything except the film.

Even though she said this was her favorite, she still reacted to it the same way she did the other movies they watched, obviously emoting all of her reactions. Jon found himself not noticing them as much as he had during the first two—he was too absorbed in the movie, in the dynamic between Bender and Claire—the bad boy named John with a past and the pretty red headed girl who was innocent, from a good family, and beautiful. He enjoyed the other characters as well, but he felt an emotional pull towards Bender and Claire.

He initially felt a strong dislike for Bender, the same instantaneous one he had felt for Theon at the New Year’s party, when he kept purposefully embarrassing her, asking her about her sex life, saying she had a fat girl’s name. He felt the urge to protect her almost the whole way through the movie, but then when the principal came in to find John, Jon saw the scared look in the bad boy’s eyes and related. He knew that type of fear—he was very familiar with it; with the terrifying idea that everyone’s lowest opinions of him would be true. That his lowest opinions of himself were true. He understood that. He also understood the quiet surprise—one scarily similar to fear—that Bender expressed when Claire came to find him, to kiss him, and again when she offered him her earring. Jon knew he would have a similar look, a similar emotion, if a beautiful, sweet redhead sought him out for a kiss.

When the credits rolled, Sansa turned her full body towards him again, accidently bumping her knees against his. She tucked her feet under her, her knee and half of her thigh pressed to his. She didn’t move it.

“What’d you think?” she asked excitedly. He told her—not all of it, not how closely he related to Bender or how he wished to find someone like Claire—but how he loved it, the honesty of it. He said he wished he’d found a group of people just as fucked up as he was, let him know being fucked up was normal, except he didn’t say _fucked_ up. He didn’t think saying it around Sansa would be appropriate.

Her smile softened at that, and he thought he felt her legs press more firmly against his own, the heat warm and comforting. It was a quiet heat, not the heat of a burning, raging fire but the heat of a fireplace in the winter.

They talked about the movie for a little bit longer, Sansa asking his opinion of specific scenes, who his favorite character was and why—Bender, but he didn’t fully explain why; hers was Bender as well, because she said he had subtle heroic tendencies. Jon wasn’t really sure what that meant, but he felt his heart swell all the same.

“What’s your favorite movie, Jon?” Sansa asked, leaning her head against the cushion of the love seat, her eyes soft on his face. He mimicked her position, sliding down, though he didn’t really mean to. Jon thought for a moment, not sure that he had one.

Watching movies in foster homes and group homes usually meant a debate or fight—one Jon didn’t really want to put himself in the middle of, which meant he was usually indifferent to the movie. With Ygritte it was another fight he didn’t want to have—he let her choose and tolerated whatever it was, if he didn’t actually enjoy it. Since then he hasn’t really watched much of anything. He thought of one—one he remembered the plot lines to even more than a decade after watching it.

“ _A Knight’s Tale_ , I think,” he said at last. “I’ll forgive its historic inaccuracies and anachronisms for the idea that a man of his status could rise up to a position of power, could end up with the princess,” Jon explained in a quiet voice, remembering thinking a peasant wasn’t that different than a foundling.

Sansa beamed for a fraction of a second before scampering off the couch and replacing the DVD with a different one. Within a minute the electric guitar was playing the opening notes of _A Knight’s Tale_.

“I watched my favorite—only fair that you get to watch yours.” She shrugged innocently when he glanced at her, pulling the blanket up high on her chest and moving closer to him than she had been during the last. She whirled on him though in the first fifteen minutes of the movie, pausing it.

“You weren’t allowed to watch _The Breakfast Club_ because it’s R, but you could watch _this_? A man’s naked arse is taking up half the damn screen!” Jon chuckled quietly.

“I didn’t see it in a group home. The foster home I was in took me to see it for my thirteenth birthday.” He had told her in this night alone much more than he’d ever told anyone besides Ygritte about his childhood. He expected her to react, say something about a foster home, ask a question. She didn’t though; she just nodded and resumed the movie.

The last thing Jon remembered was sinking a little more deeply into the love seat so that his head was against the cushion back and how warm and safe he felt.


	9. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter I promised. I should have one more up tomorrow morning before I leave for vacation.

Sansa woke up warm and in a much too bright room. For the second time in the same number of days, she woke up somewhere that wasn’t her own bed. This time though, she knew where she was at least. She had fallen asleep watching movies on the love seat in her living room.

It wasn’t the cushion her face was pressed into though. Sansa’s face was resting on Jon Snow’s chest, her arm wrapped around his middle, and she thought she could feel both of his creating a warm circlet around her waist. It was early yet—the earliest morning weak winter sun was just coming through the eastern windows. Sansa guessed it was half six or seven, far too early to get up on a Sunday.

Instead, she pulled the blanket up farther her body as well as Jon Snow’s, and closed her eyes, breathing deeply his scent once before going back to sleep.

* * *

 

Sansa woke up a second time that morning, several hours later, to the sound of quiet chatter and sizzling, as well as the typical Sunday morning breakfast smells. She recognized the smell of Drogo cooking—eggs and sausage, toast and coffee—the like. Loras also probably had a box of fresh pastries somewhere in the kitchen. The guy he was seeing worked at the bakery down the street and usually dropped of a box of “burnt” pastries on Sundays when they did their largest batch of baking.

This time Sansa actually got up, softly slipping from Jon’s arms, and joining her friends in the kitchen. Margaery and Dany were both still in their pajamas and sipping from mugs, while Drogo stood in front of the stove. After fetching and doctoring her coffee, she joined the other two women at the table.

“How late were you two up?” Dany asked, pushing the box of pastries down the table to Sansa. She shrugged.

“We watched two and a half movies after you went to bed.” She selected the cinnamon roll that had the most disproportionate amount of frosting to dough.

“How’d you end up in that position?” Margaery asked, phrasing the question with more decorum than she normally would have. Again, Sansa shrugged, pinching off a bite and letting that speak instead. Margaery shot her a look over the rim of her mug. Her comment thankfully drowned in the coffee, and Dany kicked her before she could repeat it.

“Morning,” Dany called to living room, where a dark head of curls was rising from the love seat.

“Mornin’.” Sansa’s eyes twitched over to him quickly, slightly surprised at the sound of his voice. She’d never heard his voice first thing in the morning. It was deeper; more gravel than rumble, and his Northern accent was thicker than she’d ever heard it. It almost sounded as deep as her father’s, or Robb’s. She had to press her lips together to stop herself from smiling at the homey warmth she felt hearing his voice.

“There’s coffee. Mugs are in the cabinet above. Breakfast will be ready soon,” Dany informed.

“There’re pastries too, if you’ve got an un-satisfy-able sweet tooth,” Margaery offered suggestively, earning another kick from Dany.

“Thanks.” Sansa’s eyes tracked Jon as he pulled a mug down, his reaching up exposing a thin strip of skin, before pouring himself coffee and joining them at the table. Sansa hooked her ankle around the chair next to her and pulled it out, indicating he should take that seat. Margaery winked at her but covered it by over enthusiastically rubbing her eye afterwards.

“What time did we fall asleep?” This was directed towards Sansa.

“I’d guess I made it about halfway through the movie. Dunno about you.”

“Think I made it to the tourney in Paris.” Which would mean he probably made if farther into the movie than she did, which could mean that he was the one who initiated their entangled sleeping position while awake, but she doubted it. Jon was always so hesitant and nervous. Sansa knew she’d probably rolled over towards him in her sleep, but she didn’t want to dwell on that. She didn’t want to overthink how it happened. She was just pleased that it did.

The breakfast was similar to ones they had shared in Winterfell—the ones where the whole family was present. It wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t fully like there was another person joining them either. Jon was quiet, not any more so than usual, but Sansa was starting to realize that Jon Snow may have just not been good with anything more than one-on-one, which she was also starting to realize may be what she would prefer.

Still, this breakfast was very much different than the ones in Winterfell. Robb, Ned, and Arya were the only ones to try to include Jon in conversation. Bran and Rickon were too young and oblivious—they usually carried on their own conversations separate from the older children and parents. Sansa hadn’t thought it was her place—she was the prim and proper daughter, and she knew talking to Jon in Winterfell more than necessary would cause her mother stress.

Catelyn, who thought Jon was a stray. She had a negative perception with strays; she had even before the puppy incident, but it was worse with actual human strays. Sansa knew that her mother thought the Starks—Ned, Arya, and her brothers—gave out too much and never kept enough for themselves. Catelyn never specified what they gave out too much of, though she had apparently decided Sansa did not fit in to that group. She didn’t have the Stark heart, at least according to Catelyn. Sansa was more like her, in looks as well as personality, at least she had been.

Looking at the boy next to her though, she wondered if giving too much was really a bad thing. She thought the soft look in Jon’s eyes was worth whatever she could part with.

After breakfast, Jon offered to help with the dishes, but her roommates gently kicked him out of the kitchen. He must’ve decided that was his cue to head home then, so Sansa walked him downstairs to the door. She was compelled to hug him, to kiss him, to mark their parting with more than words, but she didn’t. He answered her kiss on New Year’s Eve with silence, and she didn’t want more of that. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted, besides him in her life.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” he offered in a slightly formal tone. Sansa stuffed her hands in the pouch pocket of her hoodie.

“Anytime. Seriously.” She wanted to offer more, something to soften his face, the way it did on Christmas, and again on the roof on New Year’s. “Oh! I still have your sweats. I’ll get them back to you after I wash them.” Jon nodded, also shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No hurry.” She nodded in response, suddenly feeling young and awkward.

“Thanks again for saving me.”

“Anytime. Seriously,” he repeated back to her, causing her to smile lightly. “Bye, Sansa.”

“See you around, Jon.” He was out the door then, his boots leaving a trail in the thin layer of snow that led to the street. Sansa watched through the textured glass window as he disappeared from view. As soon as she couldn’t see the dark figure anymore, she was tackled with a body from behind.

“Spill everything,” Margaery demanded, her arms wrapped tightly around Sansa’s shoulders.

“There’s nothing to spill.” Sansa slipped out of her best friend’s grasp, heading for the stairs.

“You call him to come rescue you, spend the night at his place, come home in his clothes, invite him over, watch three and a half movies with him, one and a half of them alone, and fall asleep together on the couch. He then also stays for breakfast, and you walk him out. Are you dating him?” Margaery was speaking in her louder, excited voice, following Sansa up the stairs.

“No, I’m not dating him. He’s my brother’s best friend.” Sansa veered off of the kitchen to the hallway that lead to the two bedrooms on this floor—hers and Margaery’s. “I’m going to shower, then I have a lot of studying to do.” Margaery surrendered at that—she knew she couldn’t push anything after what happened Friday. She sauntered back to the kitchen and Sansa went to grab clothes to change into after her shower. She tried to pretend that the fact that she grabbed the t-shirt and sweat pants were Jon’s happened by accident.

* * *

 

Sansa worked on homework for hours after her shower, until her fingers cramped, though not in the good way she enjoyed from working on a piece of her art. No, she had been writing notes for her essay that was due soon on the styles of some famous painter from a period Sansa didn’t find particularly inspiring. When she declared her major as Fine Arts, she though all of her homework would be art pieces. A lot of them were, but she was also doing a lot of research, a lot of reading and analysis of art as well. It was, at this point, almost more theory than practice.

Sansa was talking herself into finishing one more chapter before taking a break when her phone buzzed. She flung herself towards it, thinking it might be Jon. Hoping it might be Jon. She answered before checking the name on the screen.

“Tell Robb to answer his bloody phone,” met her ears before Sansa even had a chance to voice a greeting.

“Arya?”

“No, it’s the fucking Septa. Tell Robb to answer his phone.” Sansa held the phone away from her face so her sister couldn’t hear her exasperated sigh.

“I’m not near Robb right now. He lives on the other side of campus. You do realize we don’t live with each other right? I can call him. Or Jeyne, I guess, if it’s an emergency.” Sansa kept her voice polite so that her sister couldn’t blatantly hear her irritation.

“Fine.”

“What did you need him for?” Sansa asked on the off chance that her sister would actually answer and not give her a sarcastic response. Or tell her to fuck off.

“Jon Snow’s number. I had a question for him about a history project I’m doing.” Sansa almost laughed—she would have if she didn’t think her sister would come through the phone and kill her for it.

“I can give you his number. Got a pen?”

“Why have you got his number?”

“Gave it to me at the New Year’s party so we could hang out at KLU.”

“You and Jon hang out?” Arya sounded shocked and appalled.

“We did last night.”

“Like on a date?” Her voice moved well into irritated now.

“No, not really. He came over to watch movies with my roommates and I.”

“You’re friends with Jon?”

“I guess so. Why?”

“You don’t hang out with guys like Jon. You don’t go _near_ guys like Jon. You steered way the hell clear of anyone like him in high school.” Her voice was angry now and Sansa couldn’t understand why. She didn’t know why her being friendly—friends with—Jon upset Arya this much.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t know any guys like Jon in high school. Do you want his number or not?” There was silence on the other end and Sansa knew it was her sister considering saying no, she’d get it from Robb once he answered, just to be spiteful.

“Yes,” she huffed. Sansa recited the numbers and once Arya had them, she hung up.

Sansa kept the number up and sent him a quick heads up text. _Hey, Arya’s calling you about a history question but I inadvertently put her in a mood so I apologize if she’s pissy._ She left her phone flipped over and decided to take her break then, going to the kitchen with her phone abandoned in her room so she wasn’t watching it to see if Jon would text her back.

No one was in the kitchen or living room, so Sansa popped her bagel in the toaster and snagged the remote off the armchair. She flipped through channels, not really planning on watching anything, but doing it more for something to do while waiting for her lunch.

Except she landed on a documentary about Robert’s Rebellion. According to the guide, it had only started a few minutes ago. Sansa settled on it, not really sure why. She found the time period interesting after reading the book and making the map for Jon, but she really wasn’t the type for documentaries.

She generally preferred period pieces and independent dramas. She liked there to be some fiction in what she watched, unlike her brother and father. But Robert’s Rebellion was different for her—this documentary wasn’t like the ones her brother and father watched, all math and science about how the castles were built. This one had all the drama her movies did and was driven by human emotion and reaction, not architects debating on how to create domes. She was enraptured in the documentary, so much so that she sat and watched the whole thing instead of going back to work. She barely even thought about Jon or Arya.

At the end of the documentary, there was a trailer for part two. There was a second part to it. Sansa considered moving her textbooks in here so that she could say she was studying while watching the documentary, except it didn’t start up next. It was something about a different war. Sansa called up the guide again to see if it would be on later that day, but she couldn’t find it. She scrolled through, thinking it might be on later that night, and it wasn’t until ten that the second part was on.

“Guess I’m staying up tonight,” Sansa muttered to herself, clicking off whatever had started. She was slightly disappointed but not unsurprised to see no new notifications on her phone when she returned to her room.

* * *

 

Margaery came to find her a few more hours later. Sansa had finished the chapters she had wanted to get done and clicked through her professor’s slides online, the whole time stealing glances at her phone, which never lit up.

“Dinner? I made your favorite.” Sansa was sure she was still trying to make up for Friday night’s mishap, and Sansa wasn’t quite ready to let her off the hook. Sansa had found out after getting back from Jon’s that Margaery had been behind the bar, hooking up with someone. She had abandoned Sansa for a hook up. Dany and Drogo had combed the bar looking for her after they let Sansa go off with Jon. Dany was _pissed_. Sansa was too—Margaery had no right to disappear after feeding her Tears without warning her about how strong they were.

“Sure.”

Dinner was awkward—more awkward than breakfast had been. Margaery was trying to be nice—overly so. Margaery was not a naturally nice person. She was all bite and sarcasm. She didn’t do nice well. It didn’t seem natural. Margaery offered to clean the dishes, even though she had cooked, and Sansa got the taste of artificial sweetness in her mouth. Margaery put up a fight about it when Sansa said she’d do it, so Sansa retreated to her room again, not wanting to watch Margaery not be herself.

Sansa stared around her room, looking for some way to make herself stay up until ten. She wasn’t really a night person. She preferred to get up early, except for when she’s gone out, or working on a project. So that’s what she decided to do.

Sansa turned on music, pulled out her largest sketchpad—the one that required her to use it on the floor—and her charcoals. She sat on the floor and turned her brain off, using her letting her hands guide her brain instead of vice versa. At first it was just broad strokes that turned into an outline of a person, like the ones she drew in life drawing, but she wasn’t drawing the model they had done in class. No, this was a man with broad shoulders and a solid chest. It wasn’t until her phone buzzed several times in a rapid succession that she realized she was drawing Jon.

Once she was jarred from the sketch, she scrambled over to her phone, ignoring the fact that her hands were covered in charcoal and she was going to smudge the screen. The first notification was from her timer app, letting her know that the second half of the documentary would be starting soon, the second was from Arya. The third was from Jon.

She turned the alarm off first, going second for the text from Arya, bracing for what it would say. Probably something snide about her being friends with Jon. About her being stuck up, because Sansa knew that’s what Arya was implying—that she was stuck up, snobby, stuck to her happy, smiley, rich, shiny friends, with a strong dislike and distrust for strays.

Arya’s text, though, said _Sorry for being rude earlier. Thanks for Jon’s number_ and Sansa thought she was being pranked. Arya apologizing was rare—extremely rare. She was of the _rather ask forgiveness than permission_ mindset, except she didn’t ask for forgiveness—she promised she’d do better, ask for permission, excreta next time, except that was a lie.

Unsure how to respond, Sansa wrote back _no problem_ and quickly moved on to Jon’s text.

 **Thanks for the heads up—but she perfectly pleasant** _._ That was even stranger.

She almost sent something, asking about his siblings, how he was able to so effectively deal with Arya, but then she remembered what he’d said during their conversation last night and on New Year’s. _Foundling_ , that’s what he said he was called. He wouldn’t know if he had any siblings or not. But Sansa also remembered all he’d said about the group homes he’d grown up in. She was sure he had learned to deal with children like Arya growing up, but she wondered where he got his patience. She was generally exasperated dealing with Arya and her younger brothers—she couldn’t imagine what it would be like with more of them. Instead, she shot back a quick, simple response—a thanks—and headed out to the living room to watch the documentary, leaving the sketchpad on the floor.

She was fifteen minutes into the documentary when the voiceover used a term she didn’t recognize. She waited for them to explain it, but they kept using it and she couldn’t figure out what it meant. Instead of just looking it up, she texted Jon. It was a few seconds later when she got his explanation, and she sent back _ah, that makes more sense_. She didn’t really expect a response from him, except one came.

**Why?**

_I’m watching a documentary—they didn’t explain the term._

**You’re watching a documentary on Robert’s Rebellion?**

_Yeah._ She sent the name of the documentary along with it. A couple minutes later, she sent a reaction to something they revealed about Lyanna, which she followed with, _I would have enjoyed history lessons much more if we had learned more about the Rebellion and less about the modernization of Westeros._

 **If you’re interested, there’s a guest lecturer coming tomorrow, speaking specifically on Lyanna’s influence on the Rebellion. It’s at half five, an hour and a half lecture, in Red Hall** _._ She could almost feel his hesitancy through the phone in the amount of time between her text and his offer.

_Sure. Can I meet you outside Red Hall?_

**Yeah. Does five work?**

_Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow,_ Sansa sent with a smiley face. It was a few minutes later, during a commercial break, that Jon sent another text.

**How do you like the documentary?**

_It’s good, interesting. I’m excited to learn more about Lyanna tomorrow. This doc keeps mentioning her but then it talks about Rheagar or Robert—it’s like she’s only important because she’s the point of the love triangle—or abduction as they keep referring to it._

**I know! They talk about her as if she was only the catalyst and not actually a part of the war. I mean, sure, most believe that she was locked in a Tower for a majority of the war, but there was never proof. Yes, she was found at the Tower, but everything we know about Lyanna, she would not have stayed in the Tower the whole war if she could help it. All signs point to her being the Knight of the Laughing Tree, and that woman would not stay in the Tower for over a year if she could help it** _._

Sansa smiled at her phone, reading his text, feeling his passion coming through it. She sent something back, something along the lines of hoping that there would be more discussion about it tomorrow, especially about the Knight of the Laughing Tree, which she hadn’t heard about.

* * *

 

Sansa continued to text Jon through the rest of the documentary, him filling in blanks left by the voiceover. Even once the documentary ended, she and Jon kept texting, while she brushed her teeth, while she cleaned up her sketching supplies, while she changed into pjs, while she lay in bed, even as she fell asleep. She wondered if this was what it was like to be in a relationship, because if so, she had been missing out.

Even though she knew this wasn’t a relationship. She knew Jon only thought of her as Robb’s younger sister, otherwise he would have responded differently after the New Year’s kiss, or after she gave him the picture.

A small part of her was disappointed—she liked Jon. He was attractive and sweet and kind and gentle. She thought it was impossible not to like Jon. He was just so _good_. But she could push that down if all Jon wanted was friendship.


	10. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the chapter I promised to get up before I leave. 
> 
> I'll post the next chapter after the episode on Sunday.

Jon Snow was early, and he was pacing. He had shown up fifteen minutes earlier than he said he’d meet Sansa, just in case she came early. Every time he saw someone with long red hair he thought it was her and he would quickly leaned against the wall, staring at his phone, making it look like he wasn’t actively looking for her. When another redhead passed that wasn’t Sansa, Jon pushed his hand through his wind-torn curls, tipping his head against the dyed brick of Red Hall.

Every time a redhead walked by, Jon felt a twisting in his stomach, and he would remind himself that this was not a date. He was going with his best friend’s sister to a historical lecture that he would be attending anyway. He also would remind himself that he had no romantic feelings for Sansa Stark. It was just nice to have a friend to talk to about stuff other than school, to hang out with, and just spend time with. Aside from Ygritte and Robb, Sansa was the only real friend he’d had.

At five to, he saw a flash of red that made his gut quiver and he saw Sansa flitting up the steps.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly, a smile covering her face, her face rosy from the cold wind. “I’m not late, am I?”

“No, I just got here,” he lied. “C’mon.” He pulled the door open for her, intending to let her lead the way until she stopped and waited for him. Sansa walked in step with him to the lecture hall on the second floor, where he automatically drifted towards his normal spot in the back corner. He half expected Sansa to protest—she seemed like a front row person, but she settled quietly into the seat next to him.

Jon tried not to watch Sansa as she pulled off her jacket, gently folding the quilted material over the back. He thought she looked great—she wore some type of cardigan/scarf combination, and the whole look came off as much more formal than his jeans and hoodie. He almost felt embarrassed about it—he didn’t own nice clothes, no cardigans or sweaters; just jeans, hoodies, t-shirts, and flannels. He had just opened his mouth to comment on how nice she looked when the professor at the front of the hall opened with a greeting. He smelled a sudden rush of pine and wood smoke, and realized Sansa had leaned close to whisper in his ear.

“Am I crashing your class?”

“Technically,” he shrugged, trying not to react to Sansa being so close, the smell of the Stark cabin and the North, and her breath ghosting over his skin. He forced the picture of them closer, more skin touching out of his head. She grinned back at him. He thought there was a devilish glint in it, and that didn’t help his trying to stomp out the images.

“I’m proud to present renowned historian Aemon Targaryen,” his professor started. Everyone quieted down at that, and Sansa sat back in her seat. The hall filled with applause as the old man took the podium.

Jon started to focus in on what Aemon Targaryen was saying, but Sansa, who was pulling a notebook out of her bag, quickly distracted him. He watched as she flipped to a clean page and proceeded to take diligent notes on everything that came out of Aemon’s mouth.

* * *

 

It was an hour and a half, four pages of notes later that the lecture was over. Sansa flashed Jon a grin as she repacked her bag and lead him out of the hall. They were on the steps of the Red Hall when they both turned to each other. Jon had turned to say goodbye—the lecture was done and he didn’t think she’d want to hang out with him any more, especially considering that she’d nearly spent half the weekend with him. Sansa spoke first though.

“Wanna grab dinner? There’s a café around the corner. We can talk about the lecture. I’ve got _so_ many questions.” Her face was rosy again, though they’d only been outside for a minute. Jon glanced at his phone, seeing that it was quarter to seven, around the normal time he ate. He had some chapters he needed to read before tomorrow, but dinner at a café with Sansa wouldn’t kill him. At least not the time aspect—but he didn’t know about spending all the time with Sansa. That might kill him, when she suddenly disappears from his life the way he knows she will.

“Sure.”

“Great!” She looked so excited that he was glad he didn’t say no.

Inside the café, Sansa led him to a corner booth, depositing her bag and jacket on the side that didn’t face the door, which Jon was grateful for. He never knew how to explain why he liked to sit with his back to the wall. Maybe she’d noticed it, with the month they had spent together at the Stark cottage.

“Would you stay here and watch our stuff? I’m going to go order. Do you know what you want?” Sansa asked him, digging her wallet out of her bag. He scrambled to pull out his own while trying to think of what to order.

“I’ll take the soup of the day and a black coffee. I’ve got it though,” Jon offered, trying to pass Sansa a handful of bills.

“No, no, no way. I owe you from Friday night. I’ve got this.” Sansa dodged his hand and quickly joined the line at the counter.

The benefit of being made to wait at the table, Jon Snow found, was that he was granted the privilege of being able to watch Sansa without it being weird. He was able to see the lines her silhouette created, the way her hair moved when she unwound her scarf and pulled it from under the curtain, the way her face lit up with a genuine smile when the barista greeted her. He also was able to see the way she turned and grinned at him while the order was being rung up, and it was the similarities between her grin and Robb’s that made Jon realize that he was checking out his best friend’s little sister.

“Are you all right?” Sansa asked, startling him, as she sat down across from him, a number settling on the table.

“Yeah, a’course.” She flashed him another smile and this time Jon wasn’t noticing the similarities between that one and his best friend’s because he was too busy trying to ignore the butterflies that had suddenly assaulted his stomach.

He was only able to quell the butterflies once they had started talking about the lecture and Sansa started asking all of her questions. The butterflies feeling was replaced though, with that feeling of warmth and security—the one he’d felt with her on Saturday night, and on New Year’s Eve, and all the other occasions that they had been together. It was the feeling of being home.

* * *

 

After their dinner, Jon walked Sansa halfway home, until they got to the corner where they had to turn opposite directions. He opened his mouth to say goodbye, again, but Sansa nearly knocked the wind out of him by wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a hug. He wound his own arms tightly against her back, breathing in deeply and trying to forget this was the first time he’d been hugged by someone since before him and Ygritte broke up, aside from the hug he’d gotten from Arya on Christmas and the lame hug he’d given Sansa that really didn’t count.

Jon thought that it was simultaneously over all too soon and that it never should have happened, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it or wish that it didn’t happen. Sansa turned and waved before she disappeared from sight, onto her street, and Jon Snow felt those damned butterflies again.

* * *

 

It was a week later that Sansa texted him, asking if she could come over. The text came in at 3pm on a Thursday, right after he got back from work. Apparently, Margaery and her bother were terrorizing each other again and Sansa couldn’t get any work done at her place. Jon wanted to ask why him, why his place when she had the library, a café, Robb’s that she could go to, but he didn’t. He just said yes.

_Great, thanks! I’ll be over in half an hour, is that okay?_

**Sure** , he sent. Sansa replied with smiley face.

Jon was just getting out of the shower when he heard the intercom buzz. Despite the fact that he knew it was Sansa, he only thought to throw on jeans over his boxers and completely forgo a shirt of any sort. Sansa was waiting for him in the mail bay, holding her backpack straps and looking much too innocent in Jon’s opinion.

“Hi, J—oh. Em, hi,” she stuttered out and it was at that point that Jon realized he didn’t have a shirt on.

“Oh, erm, sorry. I’ve just gotten out of the shower.”

“No, no, don’t apologize, it’s all right,” Sansa said quickly, waiting an awkward beat before joining him at the top of the stairs that led to his floor. She chatted with him down the hall, apparently recovering more quickly than he had to him being only half clothed.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Jon rushed to pull a flannel on, and only returned to the living room once it was buttoned up to his sternum. Sansa had settled on the couch, her bag propped against her legs and textbook in her lap. It looked as if she had already began studying, the cap of a pen being tapped against her lip. Instead of disturbing her, Jon grabbed one of his own textbooks and started studying while sitting at his two-seater kitchen table.

Last time that Sansa had been in his apartment, Jon had been filled with a tense, nervous energy. It had been strange having another person in his apartment. He’d had Robb over a couple of times, including later that same day that Sansa had been there, but Robb didn’t fill the place or change the energy the way Sansa being in the apartment did. With Sansa there, the air felt warmer, sweeter, the colors brighter, and the whole apartment felt homier, less like a place that he rented, couldn’t afford to fill, and lived alone in.

* * *

 

They studied like that for hours, only talking when necessary—her asking about the bathroom, Jon asking if she was cold or warm, if she was hungry or thirsty. It was quarter to seven when Sansa got a text from Margaery, asking if she’d be home for dinner.

“I should probably head out; let you have your place to yourself,” she offered, a small smile briefly showing before her hair fell in front of her face as she moved to pack up her bag. Jon didn’t comment. If he opened his mouth, he feared that he’d accidentally ask her to stay. “Have you got any fun plans for tomorrow?” Sansa asked, slinging her bag over her shoulders.

“Working,” he admitted. Sansa arched an eyebrow.

“On school work?”

“No, no. I’ve a job down at the auto shop downtown.” Jon wasn’t sure how to interpret Sansa’s surprised look.

“Really? What do you do there?”

“I…em. I fix cars…” he answered slowly. Sansa’s face colored to that same rosy shade Jon had seen last week when they walked in the cold.

“Oh, right. Of course,” she said quickly, quietly. “Well, have fun at work tomorrow. See you,” she called with a wave before closing the door behind her.

He found the prospect of making dinner for himself suddenly incredibly lonely and depressing, but it was how he had dinner most nights. He knew he couldn’t get too attached to Sansa, to her laugh, to her light, to her warmth, but she was intoxicating and he didn’t have a whole lot of other light in his life.

He had spent most of his life alone, whether or not he was actually alone was irrelevant, aside from the first two years of undergrad and the last six months, since he’d met Robb and the other Starks. Robb he’d allowed himself to get attached to—it was a friendship, a brotherhood. That he could handle. That didn’t terrify him. Sansa did.

Robb had a lot of similarities to him, in that they were both quiet and tended to spend more time thinking than talking or acting. Jon thought, in another life where he wasn’t abandoned or had been adopted, he could have been Robb, happily living with a long-term girlfriend and a family to return home to during the holidays.

Sansa was different, yes she was on the quiet side compared to her friends or Ygritte, and she was as, if not more, observant than Robb. She did bare similar qualities to Robb and he should feel as equally safe to get attached to her as he did when he met Robb, but Sansa was a redheaded woman and every single redheaded woman who had walked into his life had walked back out, the only changing they had left being him broken. If not anything else, Jon was observant, meaning he would be damned if he didn’t learn from his past mistakes.

* * *

 

Despite his acknowledgement of his potential pain and his resolve to not be left again, Sansa coming to his apartment to study became a regular thing. Whatever afternoons that he didn’t have a night class or wasn’t working, Sansa was sitting on his sofa, studying. With every afternoon they spent together, they spent slightly less time studying, and more time hanging out. She would share things about her classes, her frustration with her pieces, with her roommates, people in her classes.

He would share the same, and about his work and co-workers. He shared how he knew how to fix cars: one of his only foster fathers, when he was eleven, took him to work with him every day during the summer. Jon learned everything he could from watching and asking questions, and by the end of the summer Jon had evolved from handing his foster dad the right tool to actually helping. That was the home he’d spent the most time in—three years—and two of those summers he spent helping at the shop. When he turned sixteen and was required to get a job by the group home, or at least attempt to, he got one working at an auto shop, because it was the one thing he knew how to do.

Every time that he shared something about his past, his upbringing, his childhood, he still expected Sansa’s eyes to flash with pity, at least once. He thought there would be just _that one detail_ that caused that small softening in her eyes, the way it did so many others. That was why he quit talking about his past with anyone. Robb knew bits and pieces; he knew enough. Sansa knew more, because not once had he seen anything resembling pity cross her face. In fact, if he were being perfectly honest with himself, the look on her face he saw often enough while she was looking at him was one of fondness.

It was different from the way Ygritte used to look at him. Half the time she looked like she’d like to devour him, and half the time he was okay with that. The other half of the time, she looked bored with him. He never though she looked at him the way he used to look at her. When they were together, he blamed it on their upbringing and their philosophies of it.

He thought she was just more guarded than he was, that her being left and never being picked did more damage to her than it did to him. But as their relationship went on, neared the end, he realized it wasn’t her being guarded or him getting too attached because he had thought that if he held on tight enough she’d never leave him. It was her not actually loving him. It was her having been rendered incapable of love by never having received it. He, at least, had felt like one person had loved him for three years of his life.

He didn’t share any of that with Sansa though. The only subject he avoided was Ygritte. Sansa knew about her, he knew he shared something briefly on New Year’s, but he wasn’t ready to talk about that with anyone yet, not really, not even with Sansa, whom he was pretty sure to be the most understanding person in Westeros. 

* * *

 

“You’re sure you don’t mind that I hang out here all the time?” Sansa asked him, curled up on his sofa, books and papers shoved to the side. She’d been coming over for about two weeks at this point, and this wasn’t the first time that she’d asked that.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind at all,” Jon reassured her, not for the first time. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that she made his apartment bearable.

“I keep forgetting to tell you, I love how you hung the map,” she commented, looking up at the wall above her. He had hung it upon his return from Winterfell, the first thing he’d done once he was back in the apartment. He didn’t have money for a frame, and even if he did, he doubted he’d easily be able to find one to fit the map. Instead, he took some clear plastic he had from work and hung that over the map he’d attached to the wall. Around the edge of the plastic, he’d taken black tape to create a boarder. He thought it looked cheap and that the map deserved an actual frame, but he couldn’t give it that. “It’s artsy. It looks like a 2D frame. It’s very cool.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, not sharing his own opinion of his makeshift frame. She shifted, lowering her head onto the back of the sofa, similar to the way they had sat the night they watched movies in her living room.

If she had been someone else, he may have leaned forward, may have kissed her. If she had been Ygritte, or one of the girls he’d had one night stands with in getting over Ygritte. But she was Robb’s little sister and that kiss on New Year’s was a dream Jon Snow wasn’t entirely sure had happened. They never talked about it and he never spoke of it with anyone else, so the only place it existed was in his memory.

“We’re going to the Crooked Mane tonight. Want to come with us?” she asked, her eyes soft on his face.

“I have a paper due by midnight tonight,” he said in response. He watched her face drop, but more in surprise than disappointment.

“You have a paper due tonight?” she repeated. Jon nodded slowly. “Jon!” she sounded like she was scolding him but instead of retreating into his head, feeling small and worthless the way he had when he was a child, he felt a smirk forming. “Why’d you let me come over then? You should be working on your paper and I’m here distracting you!” Jon shrugged.

“You asked. And it’s mostly done.” Sansa gave him a playful eye roll and started collecting her belongings. He wanted to tell her to stop, that she could stay. He could finish the paper with her there, but she would tell him no.

“Text me if you get your paper done early. You can meet us there,” she offered, now by the door with her bag on her back.

Jon was nodding, knowing he probably wouldn’t. Not because he wouldn’t get the paper done early, but because hanging out with Sansa at a club would be different than at his apartment, even though the latter was more intimate. It was just that in the apartment it was blatantly obvious what they were: friends. They studied, they sometimes chatted, but it was mostly studying. At the club it would be different. It would feel different. The fact that they were only friends would get blurred by dancing or drinks. Jon couldn’t afford for that line to blur.

* * *

 

It was ten-thirty and Jon submitted his paper. It hadn’t taken him that long to finish it, but he procrastinated because he didn’t want to finish it too early and have the option of texting Sansa. But then he couldn’t hold off any longer—the idea of the paper being completed but unsubmitted bothered him, so he sent it in and was now staring at his phone, and had been for the past ten minutes. He wanted to text Sansa, tell her he’d meet her there, but something was stopping him.

Jon sighed, closing out the messaging screen. He would read. He would do something else that would distract him from Sansa.

Just as he was resolving to not text her, moving his phone far away from himself, it buzzed with a text. _Sansa_ his screen read. He almost didn’t open it because he could guess what she sent. She would ask if he’d finished his paper, if he would be joining them. Jon put the phone down again, pushing his hands through his hair.

He couldn’t not text her back though—Jon couldn’t do that to her, but he knew he couldn’t lie to her either. With an aggravated groan, he picked up the phone and opened the text.

_How’s your paper going?_

**I finished it** he typed out slowly, only hesitating slightly before hitting send. Her reply was instant.

 _Do you feel like coming out for a bit?_ He could say he didn’t, that he was worn out from the paper, but that wasn’t completely true. He did want to go out and celebrate being done with the paper. He wanted to celebrate with Sansa.

**Yeah. Are you still at The Crooked Mane?**

_Yeah, I’ll meet you by the front doors._

Jon had been in sweatpants and his Night’s Watch Auto hoodie all day, but that wasn’t something he could wear to the club. He quickly changed into jeans and a clean black t-shirt before pulling on his pea coat that still smelled of smoke and heading out.

* * *

 

Sansa was waiting for him by the front door like she said she would be. She’d changed since she’d been at his, he realized. Her outfit looked more like what she wore to New Year’s than what he typically saw her in. He also thought it was still rather cold out for what she had on: a tank top and shorts, though she had some kind of leggings or netting on under them. Jon pulled his eyes back up to her face before he could be caught staring. Though looking at her face wasn’t much better, because she was smiling at him with that fondness and now he was staring again. She must not have noticed though, because she was grabbing his hand and pulling him in.

She led him to where Margaery was sitting, and instructed her friend to get Jon a drink before Jon could say anything.

“I can get my own drinks,” he shouted in her ear, but she waved him off.

“We always send Margaery. She gets served the fastest.” Sansa pointed and Jon saw how Margaery had somehow slipped through the crush of bodies at the bar to one of the bartenders, despite the fact that half of the people appeared to have been waiting a while. Jon saw how the crowd all but parted for her as well, making her trip much quicker.

“Here you are.” Margaery handed him a glass and he was surprised when he tasted the whiskey in it. He hadn’t told her his drink. “Sansa said you liked whiskey,” she explained and Jon felt a jolt of warmth towards her. She’d noticed that, she must’ve, because he’d never told her that.

“Thanks.” He said it to Sansa instead of Margaery, but neither of them commented.

They were quiet for a minute, sipping their drinks. Jon was thankful to see that there were no purple drinks on the table.

Jon drank faster than he normally would have, mostly just for something to do, and once nearly half of his drink was gone Sansa was grabbing his hand.

“C’mon, let’s dance!” she yelled, trying to pull him from the booth. Jon resisted.

“I can’t dance!”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not like I’m asking you to waltz! Come dance with me, Jon!” He relented and allowed her to pull him to the dance floor.

In the middle of the floor, Jon faced Sansa, unsure. He wasn’t lying. He didn’t know how to dance. He’d never went to a dance in high school and dance clubs weren’t really Ygritte’s style. Jon thought Sansa was probably the first person he’d ever danced with.

Sansa must’ve senses this, as she put his hands on her waist and her own on his shoulders, pulling them closer.

“You really don’t know how to dance, do you? That wasn’t a line.” Jon nodded. “Just move with me. It’s easy.” Sansa started moving with the beat and the current of the other bodies around them and after a slight hesitation, Jon followed her, moving his body with hers.

* * *

 

At some point, after more drinks and time on the dance floor, Sansa turned around, so that her back was pressed against his front and his hands were on her hips. One of her hands wound into the hair on the back of his neck that was probably drenched in sweat. Jon was sure this was blurring the friendship line, but at the moment he didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments. They really mean a lot.


	11. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is a little shorter.

At the end of the night, Sansa walked out of the club with Jon, leaning on him probably a little too much.

“Do you need me to walk you home?” Jon asked, leaning closer and speaking a little louder than usual. Sansa shook her head.

“Margaery’s brother’s going to drive us, once she finds him.”

“I’ll wait with you.” He pulled her off to the side, leaning against the brick of the building. Sansa continued to lean against him, her head resting on his shoulder. She told herself it was because it was cold out and her quilted jacket wasn’t warm enough. She told herself it had nothing to do with how his arm felt wrapped around his waist.

Sansa was almost hoping that Margaery wouldn’t see them right away when she came out, and they could stay like they were for longer, but Jon saw her and waved.

 _You’re just Robb’s little sister. A friend at best,_ she reminded herself as she pulled away.

“Loras’s pulling the car around. He’ll be here in a minute.” Sansa nodded, turning back towards Jon.

“I had fun tonight, Jon. Thanks for coming out.”

“Thanks for inviting me. I needed that after the paper.”

“Any time.” Sansa said it slowly, hoping Jon would understand that when she said it she meant it. The softening of his eyes told her he did. “See you later, Jon.” She hugged him quickly, surprising herself. She hadn’t realized she was going to until she’d already let him go. Loras pulled up then, and Margaery was waving her over. “Do you want a ride?” Jon laughed.

“I live across the street. I can walk.”

“All right. See you later,” she repeated and joined Margaery and Loras.

“So, you and Jon looked pretty cozy on the dance floor,” Margaery commented once they were all in the car.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Margaery turned around from where she sat in the front seat to look at Sansa.

“You’re not seriously saying you guys are just friends?”

“I am seriously saying we’re just friends.” Sansa saw the eye roll but didn’t comment. If Margaery kept asking her in the state she was in, she might actually admit what she’d barely allowed herself to consider. 

* * *

 

For the next week, Sansa was too consumed with her work to warrant spending time at Jon’s. It was the longest she’d gone without seeing him since he came to rescue her from The Crooked Mane bathrooms. It hadn’t even been a week since she’d seen or spoken with him, but she missed him. She missed the quiet of studying at his, and the warm way he always looked at her. She felt bad; she hadn’t even had time to text him this week.

She barely saw any of her roommates either. Her life-drawing professor had announced a showcase that would be happening over spring break, which was a little cover a month away. It would be the first one she was allowed to participate in, and her first opportunity to potentially sell a piece of her work.

They had to submit proposals for the pieces they wanted to show, with explanations and rough outlines of what the piece or pieces would look like a month before the showing so that it could be approved. That gave her about a week to draft and submit everything.

Sansa had sketchbooks full of people, and she couldn’t decide which ones to submit. There wasn’t a theme for the showcase, though she thought she’d have an easier time picking a few if she had been given some direction.

Sansa wrote multiple proposals, all for different pieces. She wrote one for the one she drew at The Wolf’s Crown, of Gendry’s band, but she didn’t think that was her strongest piece. She wrote one for a series she did the previous summer of her siblings, but the eyes looked off, flat on all of them. She wrote another few for some of the sketches she’d done with the model in class, but that felt like cheating, submitting assigned sketches that she’d gotten feedback on.

There were sketches she kept going back to, but didn’t write a proposal for. Those were all the ones she’d done of Jon in Winterfell. She thought they were some of her best work, aside from the map, but that wouldn’t be allowed, as it wasn’t of a person. The idea of submitting the sketches of Jon terrified her though. No one knew how many she’d done, or how detailed they were. For some reason, those felt more personal than the self-portraits she’d considered submitting.

* * *

 

Sansa was nearing the deadline when she gave up and dumped all of her sketches and proposals on Margaery’s bed.

“All right, I’m having a crisis and I need your help.” Margaery immediately looked up from the fashion blog she’d been updating for her class. Sansa explained what she needed, the pieces she’d originally picked but then found fault with. Margaery nodded and started going through the proposals Sansa had already written and the pieces that went with them.

It was a little more than an hour of Margaery studying every sketch she’d produced in the last several years. Margaery was mostly quiet, except for occasionally asking who someone was. Sansa spent the time scrolling through Margaery’s blog and looking for clothes she’d like to either find in a sale or have Margaery knock off for her.

“I never noticed how often you draw. How do you find the time to do all of these?” Margaery asked, flipping through another full sketchpad. Sansa shrugged. She didn’t even notice how often she drew. She was just constantly drawing. It wasn’t as if she ever went anywhere without her book.

“You’ve got one of me in here!” Margaery grinned, flipping the book to show Sansa. It was one she’d done when they were all sat around working on homework in the living room one afternoon. Margaery had been reading a textbook and held a highlighter between her teeth. Sansa had drawn the chewed end of the pen she’d held as well.

“We’re looking for something to submit, not for drawings of ourselves.”

“All right, all right,” she huffed.

Another twenty minutes later, Sansa heard Margaery make a confused sound, her flipping suddenly faster.

“Where’s the sketch you showed me over break?”

“What one?” Sansa frowned, turning around.

“The one of Jon.”

“I gave it to him at the end of break.” Margery’s eyebrows rose and Sansa readied herself for whatever comment was coming.

“That was a romantic gesture,” she commented pointedly.

“It wasn’t meant to be. We’re just friends.” Margery looked skeptical.

“Friends who kissed on New Year’s.”

“It was New Year’s. You and I kissed on New Year’s once,” Sansa pointed out. Margaery didn’t have a response for that. “Anyway, what about it?”

“I thought it would’ve been a good one to submit.”

“The one of Jon?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got others, so I guess one of those would work too.” Sansa pressed her lips together, surveying the sketches she’d done in Winterfell that Margaery was spreading out. She agreed that the one she gave Jon would have worked well, but she was still hesitant about submitting works of Jon.

There was the one of Jon showing Arya a few fencing moves with her new sword she’d drawn. The one where she’d sat in the hallway while Jon and Robb talked in the kitchen about their hike and she’d drawn both of their profiles and had caught their hands mid gesture. There was the one she’d drawn of him while he was reading, eyes down and face relaxed. There were others too, mostly of him listening or just sitting. Except for the one she’d drawn one of the first days they’d been in Winterfell, when she’d sat across from him, waiting all day for him to draw that smile he had, where his lips turned down instead of up. He’d actually been looking at her—it had been some comment she’d made to Robb that made him smile like that, and she’d drawn him staring out of the paper with the laughter in his eyes.

That was the one she should’ve given him, where he was smiling and laughing, and not the one where he was broodily staring at his phone.

Margaery was focused on the same one, shifting the way she held it in her hand.

“What about this one?”

“Wouldn’t it be weird? Submitting a sketch of Jon?”

“Why would it be weird?” Sansa hesitated.

There was an intimacy there she didn’t know how to address. Jon had known she drew him, she’d told him as much on New Year’s. But those were for her. She drew him because she was compelled to do so, to satisfy some need in her, but to share that with professors, classmates, then general public of King’s Landing? It felt like inviting her school life into her personal. She didn’t know how to explain that to Margaery though, especially not without making it sound like she had feelings for Jon.

“Because it’s Jon. It’d be different if he were someone else. A close friend or… I don’t know, a boyfriend,” she shrugged. Margaery turned to her, eyebrow arched.

“Are you sure he’s not?”

“Not what?”

“Either of those things. You spend enough time with him.” Sansa rolled her eyes.

“We’re just friends. Maybe good friends, but not close enough for this. This would be weird.”

“All right, fine.” Margaery set that one aside, moving to pick up a few other sheets that poked out from under one of the other ones of Jon. “These are really good.” She held three separate pages that were each filled with the same images repeated over. One was eyes, one was hands, and one was lips. Sansa sighed. “Oh, what’s wrong with these now?”

“Those are all Jon.” Margaery picked up one of the other many drawings of Jon, comparing what she saw.

“Seven hells. Have you drawn anything _but_ Jon recently?” Sansa screwed up her face, thinking.

“Aside from class assignments? I don’t think so, no.”

“Are you _sure_ you don’t have feelings for him?” _Not in the slightest_ , she thought. But it wasn’t enough to risk their friendship. That was more important to her than her feelings for him, whatever they may be.

“I’m sure.” Margaery looked like she didn’t believe her but Sansa ignored it.

“All right. What about these though? I mean they’re Jon, but they’re not _obviously_ Jon. And they’re good. Would they qualify?”

“I mean, yeah. They just have to be humans, they didn’t say a whole human.”

“Well, then I think you should submit these. They’re good, very human—alive, I mean.”

“All right. Suppose I should write a proposal for them then. Thanks.”

When Sansa got back to her room, she was mildly surprised to see a text waiting for her on her phone, from Jon. He’d never texted her first. Slightly concerned, she opened the text.

 **Haven’t heard from you in a while, just wanted to make sure you were all right** _._ She couldn’t suppress the soft smile she felt.

_I’m fine, just really busy. Thanks for asking though._

She silenced her phone then, turning it over so that she could focus on the proposal and getting her drafts scanned in.

* * *

 

It was late by the time Sansa got her proposal written, her drafts scanned in, and everything submitted. Margaery had tried to drag her out to eat something a while ago, but she’d had a flow going and hadn’t wanted to stop. She was tired and wanted to go to bed, but she knew she needed to eat something before going to bed.

The only problem was, nothing in the apartment looked good at the moment.

“Wanna come with me to get food?” Sansa asked, poking her head into Margaery’s room.

“Where?” Sansa shrugged. “What’re you hungry for?”

“Something good?” Margaery rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything.

Margaery got the car keys from Loras and they drove downtown. Sansa realized they were near Jon’s apartment and half of her wanted to go there instead of getting something to eat. Go to his, curl up on his sofa, maybe fall asleep there.

She thought about texting him instead, asking if there were any good places to eat besides the clubs and pubs, but it was late and he was probably sleeping, she reasoned.

“All right, looks like your options are this taco place or the 24-hour diner around the corner,” Margaery said after they drove past another place with a CLOSED sign on the door.

“Diner.”

When they pulled around, a logo across the street caught her eye.

“That’s the auto shop where Jon works,” she pointed out. She hadn’t known where it was. She realized now that it wasn’t actually that far of a walk for him, not as far as she’d thought at least. It was probably only fifteen or so minutes. She saw Margaery glace at her as they pulled into a parking spot. She knew it probably seemed like Jon was the only thing she talked about, but it was really just that Jon was the only friend she had that didn’t live with them. 

* * *

 

When they got home, Sansa was ready to crash. She’d eaten dinner quietly, listening to Margaery discuss some new styles they were learning about. She was just getting into bed when she realized she’d left her phone on her desk and hadn’t checked since before she had started the proposal. There was a new text from Jon.

**That’s good. Not you being busy. The fact you’re all right.**

Sansa carried the phone with her back to her bed, waiting until she was snuggled down to type out a reply.

_Thanks for checking on me Jon. It’s really sweet of you._

She set the phone on the bed next to her pillow, ready to fall asleep. The phone lit up again before she drifted off though.

 **Just doing my job as your friend.** Sansa pushed away both the phone and the feeling that came with reading the text. She could deny her feelings to Margaery all she wanted, but late at night, half asleep and alone, she didn’t have the energy to pretend that the text didn’t sting just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If serious shit goes down in this episode, I'll post the next chapter later tonight cause we'll need it.


	12. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close, I promise

Jon thought Sansa was mad at him. He had barely heard from her since he met up with them at The Crooked Mane. They’d texted a little on Sunday, but not since then and it was Thursday now. He thought it was the longest he’d gone without hearing from her since he’d come to get her from The Crooked Mane.

He was sure that’s what it was—that she was mad, upset. He’d pushed the boundaries when they went to the club together and now she was purposefully putting distance between them. He was supposed to be her friend and friends didn’t dance with each other like that. 

* * *

 

Jon couldn’t help but bring it up to Robb, before their professor started class. He needed to know if it was just him she was avoiding.

“Have you heard from Sansa recently?” Jon asked slowly, pretending he was only asking offhand and more focused on writing the date at the top of his notes.

“Not since Sunday,” he shrugged, also absorbed with his notes. Robb looked over at him a beat later, his words sinking in. “Why?” Jon shrugged, trying to play it off.

“Haven’t heard from her either. Just wanted to check if she’s all right.”

“I didn’t know you two talked—aside from when she called you that one time.” Jon scratched his beard, giving himself an excuse to turn his head away from Robb, hide his wince. He’d forgot that Robb didn’t know. He didn’t know that he and Sansa were friends, that they’d kissed on New Year’s, that they’d hung out, that they’d danced together, that she’d slept in his bed, that they’d slept cuddled together in her living room once.

“Yeah, occasionally. She’s been interested in Robert’s Rebellion since she made the map.” It wasn’t untrue. They had talked about the Rebellion more than once. It just wasn’t all they’d talked about. Their relationship was far more than just talking about history. He couldn’t tell Robb that though.

Jon knew Robb was protective of Sansa. He’d known that before he met her. Robb had talked about her last semester, about checking in on her occasionally, but Jon never thought that would apply to him.

“Huh,” was all Robb said though, before turning back to his notes. Jon slid his phone out just as the professor came into the room. He wrote the text quickly, not letting his hesitancy get in the way.

**Haven’t heard from you in a while, just wanted to make sure you were all right.**

Jon typically kept his phone on silent and in his pocket during classes, but he had to know if she texted him back, so he turned it to vibrate and balanced it on his leg so that he could see if anything came in.

It wasn’t until the end of class that anything did, which meant he’d spent half the time anxiously waiting for his phone to light up, to prove she wasn’t mad at him, putting distance between them, putting him in his place. _You’re her friend at best. Robb’s friend at worst,_ he reminded himself. Every time he saw that she’d sent nothing, he felt his heart sink. He thought he’d feel relief when she finally replied, but instead he felt a sense of dread. He had to steel his nerves to open it.

_I’m fine, just really busy. Thanks for asking though._

He read it more than once, trying to read between the lines. She replied, which was a start, he supposed, but it didn’t prove anything. Her being busy could just be an excuse to keep away from him. He pretended it wasn’t, and as soon as class was over, he texted her back.

**That’s good. Not you being busy. The fact you’re all right.**

He thought it was a solid, friendly reply. There were no lines being crossed in the simple message. He half expected her to text back right away, or relatively soon after, but his phone was silent his whole walk home.

On his way home, he passed her house, the green one with gold trim. He almost stopped, almost went in to talk to her, but he didn’t. If she really was busy, he didn’t want to disturb her. And if she wasn’t actually busy, he didn’t want to push it.

* * *

 

In his apartment, he felt Sansa’s absence. It’d been less than a week since she’d last been there, but it felt like longer, especially when before she’d been there every other day, if not every day. She filled his apartment, brightened it. It was dull and empty now. He wouldn’t admit just how quickly he’d grown attached to her, to having her in his life, and how much the past week of quiet had hurt.

* * *

 

Jon had been in bed for a while, trying and failing to sleep. He still hadn’t heard back from Sansa, but he kept reminding himself that he’d done the same thing to her, when they first came back from Winterfell. She’d given him the drawing and he didn’t say anything for two weeks, until she called him. This wasn’t anywhere near that—it’d been less than a week and it wasn’t radio silence, but she couldn’t understand how hard this would hurt him. She probably knew the most about his past, but she didn’t know everything, not even close. She didn’t know about Ygritte walking out on him, or the woman from his childhood that Catelyn reminded him of.

* * *

 Jon woke up to his screen bright in his face. The numbers said it was almost one in the morning. Sansa had texted him back.

 _Thanks for checking on me Jon. It’s really sweet of you._ Jon was suddenly wide awake. That was almost exactly what she’d said when she thanked him for sending Robb to check on her. He didn’t think that sounded like she was mad at him. Maybe she was actually busy. Robb had said he hadn’t heard from her either. He still didn’t want to accidentally cross any lines though, even if she actually had been busy. He also remembered the look of mild surprise on Robb’s face when Jon said he and Sansa talked sometimes. His gut twisted again at the lie he told Robb, which was why he sent the response he did.

 **Just doing my job as your friend**. It was more a reminder to himself than anything else. That they were just friends.

* * *

 

Jon was surprised to see a text from Sansa when he woke up the next morning. He’d stayed up for a bit last night, after he’d texted her back, but she hadn’t replied. He realized, or maybe hoped, that she must’ve fallen asleep and responded once she’d woken up.

_Sorry I haven’t been around. Had to get an art proposal off for a showcase by midnight last night. Took all week to do it._

He wouldn’t admit that a small part of him was surprised, but pleased, that she had actually been busy and it wasn’t all an excuse to stay away from him.

**It's all right.**

He paused, fingers hovering over the screen. He wanted to say he missed her, but he couldn’t. That would definitely be crossing a line, probably more than one.

 **The apartment misses you**.

He sent it before he could think. It definitely fell in a grey area that could be taken as flirting, but he had to say something to let her know how he’d felt the past week.

_The apartment missed me, huh?_

He thought she might be flirting back— _no, no, not back, I’m not flirting with her_ —but it was hard to tell over text. And he wasn’t that great with recognizing flirting to begin with.

_The apartment should be glad to know that I have nothing going on today, aside from studying._

Jon wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or groan. She was offering to come over.

**The apartment has no plans aside from studying either.**

Jon thought this was a little childish and cheesy, but he couldn’t admit that he wanted her to come over, that he missed her, not after the surprise on Robb’s face last night. This was the best he could do at the moment, at least until he sorted himself out, sorted everything with Robb out.

_I’ll come over in the afternoon? I’ll text you when I’m heading out?_

**All right.**

She sent a smiley face back.

Jon pushed himself out of bed, knowing if he didn’t find something to do he’d lay in bed and fret about Sansa and Robb. He knew he had to tell Robb the truth about him and Sansa, tonight, when they went for drinks. Even though he didn’t really know what that was. But he could tell him that they were friends, that they hung out, hung out a lot actually. He didn’t have to tell him that it might be something a little more on his end, especially when he wasn’t even sure.

He’d never been friends with a girl before, and he wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was what a normal friendship with a girl felt like, or if this was something else, something different. Because it felt different than it did with Ygritte.

* * *

 

Jon couldn’t deny himself a smile and a flaring of excitement when his intercom buzzed. Especially when he saw Sansa waiting for him in the mail bay, her face beaming up at him. He couldn’t hide his shock either, when Sansa rushed up the stairs and knocked the wind out of him with a tight hug. He didn’t hesitate before wrapping his arms just as tightly around her back. He thought he could say how much he missed her if he held her close enough, tight enough.

In his apartment, she curled on her usual end of the sofa, but didn’t immediately pull anything out of her bag.

“How was your week? I feel so bad for dropping off the earth.” He hesitated a moment, almost sitting in his usual kitchen chair, but moved instead to sit on the end of the sofa opposite her.

“It’s all right. It was fine. Boring.” She crinkled her nose and the word _cute_ popped into Jon’s head. “What about yours? You said you had a proposal you had to submit? For a showcase?” For some reason her cheeks colored a rosy shade of pink at the mention of the showcase.

“Yeah, for life drawing. It’ll be over the week of spring break.”

“What’re you submitting? Something you’ve done in class?” He thought of the sketch she’d given him and he wondered who was lucky enough to have her capture them in her talents.

“No, something I’ve done on my own. It didn’t feel write submitting a piece I was required to do. They’re studies though, what I’ve submitted. Not a whole person, but parts of them.”

“You’ll have to let me know when it is, so I can come see your work.” Jon was again surprised when her cheeks turned that rosy color again.

“Yeah, yeah, I will.”

* * *

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon working quietly as they normally did, every other time she came to his. Even though she’d said in her text that she had to study, she spent the whole time working in her sketchbook, though Jon supposed that was a type of studying for her. He was taking notes but the textbook didn’t consume him, or maybe it didn’t consume him because he was hyperaware of Sansa sitting near him. He could feel her eyes on him every time she looked up, though he never looked over to catch her. He thought, or maybe hoped, that she was drawing him.

He liked the idea of her finding him worthy of capturing. No one looked at him the way Sansa did. No one _saw_ him the way Sansa did. No one had ever seen him as _worthy._ Except for Sansa.

He realized, feeling her eyes on him again, that he had to tell Robb _something_. He couldn’t let their friendship continue with a lie. Because he wasn’t giving up Sansa. He needed her in his life, even if it was as a friend, and even if that thought terrified him.

* * *

 

“We’re going to The Crooked Mane again tonight. To celebrate my proposal being submitted. Do you wanna come with us? It was really fun when you came out last weekend.” Sansa had the same look she’d had when she asked him to play cards, back in Winterfell. It was a look that was hard to say no to.

“I would, but Robb and I are going out tonight. Jeyne’s gone to her parents’ for the weekend, and Robb said he needed a lads’ night.” Jon almost offered to take a rain check but he couldn’t form the words.

“Well in that case, I promise I won’t get so pissed that you have to come rescue me. Unless, of course, you need saving from Robb’s boringness.” Jon smirked at the sibling barb, having grown accustom to them in Winterfell. Sansa lips mirrored his and he wanted to make some type of plan with her, so he’d have something to look forward to, especially after this past week of not actually seeing her.. They had the afternoons to study together, but those were dependent on so many things: her homework load, his work schedule, and his class schedule. They usually decided the day of and he was never sure if he’d actually see her. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle another week of no contact with her.

“Maybe next weekend?” he offered. She smiled.

“Maybe next weekend,” she agreed.

* * *

 

Jon met Robb at Flea’s Bottom, the hole in the wall dive bar that was nearly outside the boundaries of King’s Landing. The pub was one KLU students never went to; it was usually older people, poorer people, and young people he saw himself in, people who might be Waters, orphans, and just as lost and broken as he was.

Robb had beaten him there and had already ordered him a pint. Jon found himself setting his phone down on the table, face up, just in case Sansa did actually need rescuing. They chatted, Robb talking about Jeyne and how nice it was to have a night out without her, even though he loved her. Jon didn’t understand that. When he was with Ygritte he would have never basked in having a weekend of what Robb referred to as freedom.

After they ordered, ate, and were in their third pint each, Jon’s phone lit up. It was a picture from Sansa, of Sansa, along with her roommates. They had all some how squeezed into the frame, glasses that Jon was pretty sure didn’t contain Tears raised high.

_Wish you were here. Hope you’re having fun with my brother!_

Sansa’s text under the picture read. Jon found himself smiling at the phone, at the picture.

“Who’s texting you?” Jon quickly closed the screen and set it down so Robb couldn’t see it.

“Hm? Oh, no one.” He was going for a distracted nonchalance, but doubted that he achieved it. He wanted, needed to tell Robb, but not yet. Not this way. He needed another beer in him first.

“A girl, then?” Jon quickly saw the way this conversation would play out in his head, with Robb somehow managing to unlock his phone and see his sister’s text if Jon didn’t supply him with some sort of answer. “Who is she? Is she pretty?” Jon had no idea how to answer. He could say it was Val, the pretty girl that had been in one of their classes last semester, that he had traded numbers with, but Robb knew Val and if he mentioned it, Val wouldn’t know what he was talking about.

“Just a mate from work,” he lied, gut twisting again. Some of his co-workers did text him occasionally, and occasionally it was funny, and Robb wouldn’t question it.

Robb then took it upon himself to try to set up Jon. He pulled out his own phone and started going through his contacts, despite Jon protesting. He didn’t need to be set up, he was fine on his own, he wasn’t sure that he was actually over Ygritte. The last one was a lie, technically the last they were all lies, but he very well couldn’t say he thought he might be developing something for Robb’s little sister.

Robb kept talking about other girls he knew, Jeyne’s friends, some of the women at the pub, trying to find anyone Jon would agree to go out with. Robb was showing him a picture of someone named Talisa when Jon’s phone went off again.

 _Sure you don’t want to ditch Robb for the fun Stark_?

Jon had to hide his chuckle. From what he saw of the Stark siblings at Winterfell, he had assumed that Arya was the fun Stark, Robb was the smart one, and Sansa was the social one. He didn’t think he was wrong about Sansa being the social one, but after spending time with her at KLU he realized how wrong he was about the rest of it. The Stark siblings didn’t all have just one personality trait, and Sansa definitely wasn’t the shallow, ditzy porcelain doll he thought she was when he saw her waiting outside Robb’s car.

Jon knew that he couldn’t put off telling Robb. Not when he wanted to be with Sansa, both right then and every other time he could spare to be with her, whether it be as friends or as anything else.

“Robb…” Jon started, his hand rubbing his neck. Robb looked up questioningly. “I, em. I… Do you remember the New Year’s Party?”

“A’course. You disappeared about an hour into it and didn’t show back up until one AM.” Jon nodded. Robb had given him shit for that. He never really admitted where he had been, just that he had felt claustrophobic and needed air. For two hours.

“I was with someone, at midnight…” Robb’s eyebrows arched.

“I knew it!” Robb interjected. He’d bothered Jon about it every chance he’d gotten until they were back at KLU. Jon hadn’t known what to tell him and, frankly, was still unconvinced it had actually happened.

“I was with Sansa,” he blurted. Robb’s face shifted from impressed to concerned.

“Was she all right?” _Of course, because if I was with her, I must’ve been taking care of her._ Robb wasn’t suddenly worried about his best friend and his little sister.

“Yeah, she was fine… We were just hanging out. We…erm… we…”

“Jon, whatever you need to say, just say it,” Robb chuckled, obviously thinking that nothing serious could have happened between them. That caused concern in Jon. Did he think that there was no way nothing could have happened between him and Sansa? Maybe he _had_ imagined the whole thing.

“We kissed. Just the once, just at midnight. It was nothing,” Jon said in a rush.

He was terrified that Robb was going to interrupt him, tell him that he needed to stay away from his sister, to leave, lunge across the table at him and take him down. Call him a worthless bastard that would never be good enough for his beautiful, perfect sister.

“And we’ve hung out, been hanging out, actually. Just as friends. But I thought I ought to tell you.” Jon took a large swig of his pint, swallowing down as much as he could to hopefully drown the twisting queasiness he was feeling. Robb didn’t say anything for a long moment and Jon almost excused himself, leaving before he could be left, but as he began to push back his chair, Robb spoke, grinning.

“Good. That’s good. You two fit well together.” Jon shut his mouth quickly. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “Jon, I know you care about her, and that’s all that matters. I’m all right with it, as long as she is.” Jon felt his stomach settle, his chest loosen, but only for a minute. _As long as she is_ rang in his head. He had no idea if she was or not.

Jon suddenly realized that Robb wouldn’t be the hardest Stark to tell. It would be Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left a comment, a kudos, or even read it so far. I've never shared my writing with anyone before I started posting on here and you guys are literally the best and I love you all.


	13. Sansa

Sansa was recovering from what she considered to be a rather successful night out. Margaery found someone to go home with, Loras and his boyfriend didn’t fight, Dany and Drogo may or may not have hooked up behind the club, and Sansa didn’t need to be rescued this time.

She was just motivating herself to get out of bed, get started with the day, maybe go study at Jon’s if she felt like it—if she could come up with a good enough excuse to warrant not studying at hers—when Margaery burst in, having obviously just returned home.

“So, I see you slept here last night,” her best friend commented, plopping down on the bed.

“Where else would I sleep?”

“Didn’t come up with an excuse to end up at Jon’s?” Sansa shot her a look before replying.

“He was with Robb last night. Wouldn’t that’ve been strange? Plus, there’s nothing going on between Jon and I.”

“Oh, is there not?”

“No, there’s not.” Margaery rolled her eyes.

Her best friend had no doubt assumed that there was something going on, at least on one end, as Sansa spent whatever time she could there. But Margaery didn’t understand how Sansa felt about Jon, not really. Yes, she liked him, and yes, she wouldn’t deny that she found him attractive, but it was so much more than that. She almost felt a need to protect him.

She didn’t know how to explain it, not in a way that would make Margaery understand. Margaery understood love and she certainly understood sex, but she didn’t understand that sometimes there could be something deeper than love, without the sex. Some sort of impossible connection, where all she wanted to do was be in his life. She didn’t care how, if it was as friends, as a surrogate sister, as something more than either of those.

“On either side?” Sansa shrugged. She honestly didn’t know how Jon felt about her, other than the fact that he let her stay at his to study and would rescue her from a pub at half midnight if she asked.

“Sansa? Your brother’s here,” Dany’s voice floated through the door, her bright blonde hair turned near white from the sunlight streaming in from the hall window.

“Robb?” Dany shrugged. Sansa pushed Margaery out of the bed and padded out to the kitchen where Robb was sitting in the same seat Jon had. “Hi?” Sansa questioned. Robb had only even been to her place when she was moving in or when he was dropping her off. “Everything all right?” He was the oldest—if anything happened, their parents would call him first.

“What? Oh, yeah, no, everything’s fine. Just had an interesting chat with Jon last night is all.” Sansa sat in the chair across from him, pulling a pastry from the box Loras’s boyfriend had brought.

“Oh?” Sansa had assumed that at some point between the New Year’s party and Jon saving her Jon had told Robb about the kiss, because that was the type of man Jon was. She realized now that maybe he hadn’t.

“Heard you two’ve been hanging out.”

“We have,” Sansa answered, unsure of where this was going. Robb wasn’t going to tell her to stay away from Jon, was he? _That would be a tad hypocritical_ , she thought, him telling her to stay away from his best friend.

But Robb wasn’t supposed to be the one to worn a Stark against broken boys. _She_ was the Stark child that was supposed to warn her other siblings against strays; _she_ was supposed to be the one with the most Tully blood, the most like Catelyn. It wasn’t supposed to be Robb.

“Heard you two kissed on New Year’s.” Sansa’s mouth opened briefly. She thought to deny, first and foremost, but that wouldn’t be fair to Jon. She thought to explain, but she remembered this wasn’t her mother she was facing.

“We did.” Robb was quiet for a moment. “Why? Have you got a problem with that?” she snapped, readying to fight on Jon’s behalf. Robb chuckled instead.

“Careful, there. You sounded like Arya.” Instead of feeling abashed or apologizing, she leveled him with an Arya worthy stare. That caused Robb to laugh again.

“I see you’ve finally found your stubborn Stark streak,” he commented.

“I’ve always been a Stark, no matter what Mum says,” Sansa retorted steely.

“ _I_ knew that. Wasn’t sure you did though. Anyway, I just came over to let you know that I’m all right with it. With whatever’s going on with you two.”

“Well, thanks, but I don’t very well need your blessing.” Robb rolled his eyes.

“I know _you_ don’t. Jon might’ve though. You should’ve seen him last night. I’ve never seen him so nervous.”

“Really?” Sansa wasn’t sure why she was so excited by this, other than the fact that it pointed to him maybe wanting him in his life as something other than a friend or sister.

“Mhmm. Just, em. Be careful with him, Sans. I don’t know how much he’s shared with you about himself, but—”

“I know. I know more than you think.” She continued to pick at her pastry, waiting to be disputed.

“Good. Then you know about his ex.” Sansa looked up sharply. She didn’t think this was where it was going. She thought it was about him being a foundling, about his childhood spent in group and foster homes.

“Ygritte? I know she was at the New Year’s party.” He looked at her quizzically.

“Well, that would certainly explain his disappearing. But is that all you know?”

“I know she broke up with him after two years,” she supplied, trying to search through that alcohol fog that clouded New Year’s.

“All right, well, he took it hard. Didn’t deal well. If you’re not serious about him, don’t start anything, all right?”

“All right,” Sansa agreed, though a little bitter about being told how to treat Jon, as if she didn’t already know.

“I mean really serious, Sansa. This can’t be some fling or a phase or you rebelling against Mum. It has to be something _real_.”

“I know, Robb.” Her voice was a little sharper than she intended it to be, but she thought that might’ve been what actually pushed Robb to believe her.

“All right, then. That’s all I came to say. Oh,” he paused after having stood, turning back to face her. “Have you spoken to Mum recently?”

“Two weeks ago, maybe. Why?”

“Spoke to her yesterday. She mentioned something about maybe coming this way with Arya for spring break, since Arya’ll be applying to universities soon. So they’ll be here for your birthday.” Sansa’s eyebrows shot up, though she wasn’t sure if it was the prospect of her mother being in KLU for a week that caused her surprise, or the idea that Arya and her mother were going to spend a week alone together.

“Thanks for the heads up.” That meant that she had about four weeks to mentally ready herself before her mother and sister showed up. Robb nicked a pastry and headed out. Sansa finished hers quickly and went to fetch her phone.

_Need a quiet place to draw. Can I come over?_

She left her phone while she went to shower, hoping that by the time she was back, Jon will have responded.

* * *

She was right. A text had come in about ten minutes earlier.

**I get off work at two. See you then?**

She responded and decided to study while waiting until she could go over. The antics between Margaery and Loras that caused her to start studying at his in the first place had lasted maybe two days at most. She didn’t tell Jon that though. She just kept coming up with new excuses and new reasons that she’d have to study at his. For a while it was Dany and Drogo fighting. Then it was that she and Margaery had gotten into a fight over some misplaced desserts (which was absolutely false; Margaery had a completely different taste in desserts than Sansa did). She wasn’t sure what she would use to explain it this time. Maybe that Dany and Drogo were having very loud sex? It was plausible. Sansa decided on that excuse, partially just so that she could see Jon’s reaction when she said it.

As soon as her clock struck two, Sansa shouldered her bag with her sketchbook and pencils, heading out the door. She hadn’t looked outside or checked the whether since she’d gotten up and didn’t realize that it was raining. The jacket she’d pulled on lacked a hood and was more for fashion than purpose. _Gods damn it all_ , she thought, pulling the collar as high as she could and breaking into a dead sprint for the apartment building five blocks from her house.

She was able to not get _completely_ drenched, but she did beat Jon to his building. Sansa sat herself on the steps that led into his building, hunched under the slight overhang.

“Sansa?” she heard before she saw him, only a handful of moments later. He emerged from the mist and rain like a hero from the smoke. “I’m sorry, I was running late—”

“No, no, it’s my fault. I didn’t realize it was raining until I’d already started this way, so I ran and got here much faster than I should’ve.”

“You’re soaked. C’mon,” he muttered, ushering her in and through the warm building as he’d done so many times before. Once inside his apartment, Sansa quickly shed her dripping jacket and bag to only be standing in wet leggings and blouse, the rain having soaked through her jacket. It also didn’t help that her waterlogged hair was plastered against her back. “Seven hells, Sansa. I’ll grab you something to change into.” Jon kicked off his boots and hurried into his room, returning with one of his flannels and the sweat pants she had returned to him.

“Thanks,” she chattered. It was only after a moment’s pause that she realized he would expect her to change in the bathroom, even though they both knew he’d seen her in her underwear once.

In the bathroom, she peeled off her leggings and blouse and tank top, rolled on the sweats. Her underwear had been spared, but her bra hadn’t. Deciding to go for comfort over decorum, she shed that as well, and wrapped Jon Snow’s flannel shirt around her naked torso.

“Thanks. This is much better,” she thanked him again, curling into her usual position on the couch. It was at that point that she realized he was still in his work uniform of a black jumpsuit with his name stitched in grey on his chest. His dark curls were pulled into an bun and his hands were stained with grease.

“Sorry, I usually shower before you come over,” he admitted quietly. She realized that she’d been staring at his hands and that he had noticed. She could tell by his face, the way he suddenly shoved them in his pockets that he thought she was disgusted with the dirt, the grime, the grease, lines and calluses but in reality she was in awe of them and itching to draw them. She’d drawn his hands so many times in Winterfell, but she’d never seen them like this, with proof of a hard day’s work inked on them.

“Oh, no, no, I wasn—” she started but he had already moved, not hearing her, going to grab a change of clothes so he could shower and be presentable for her no doubt. She quietly followed him, just peeking her head around the doorframe.

“Jon,” she breathed, alerting him to her presence only once he had his jumpsuit unzipped and half down his shoulders, his torso exposed. This time she allowed herself to stare. Last time, the first time she came over to study, and he had answered the door shirtless she had only allowed herself stolen glances. Last time she was trying to remind herself that he was Robb’s best friend and that she was there as a friend.

When he saw her in his doorway, Jon started to zip the jacket part back up, but Sansa protested.

“Wait, wait, wait. Can I draw you…like that?” Jon paused, the shirt barely back on his shoulders. “I have that life drawing class. I really could use the practice.” She took a step farther into the room, hoping her look came off as innocent. There was a long silence between Sansa’s question and Jon’s answer.

“Oh, er, yeah. Sure. All right. I guess that’d be all right.” Sansa grinned, coming all the way into the room and taking a hold of his hand to pull him into the living room. She instructed him to sit, spinning one of the two kitchen chairs into the living room. Then, suddenly, Sansa was flying. She was moving the curtains, she was shifting the coffee table, and she was adjusting the way the jacket hung open on him, moving it so that his name was visible. With soft hands, she loosened two stands of curls at each of his temples, framing his face.

“There,” she murmured to herself, pleased with her work. She was actively working to ignore the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, the slightest pause in his breathing she thought she heard. “All right?” He nodded slowly. “All right,” she whispered.

She sat herself against the couch, leaning her pad against the coffee table. She started with the rough outline, the way she learned in class. She’d never drawn abs before. It was hard for her to get the shadowing right, and the draping of his open jacket, but his face, his eyes she could do. She damn well should be able to, considering the number of times she’d drawn them in Winterfell, and over the past week. Sansa also made damn sure to get the grease on his hands shaded right.

Once she had enough detail down that she could finish it with out him in front of her, she pulled him to his feet, wanting desperately to point out that her hands mirrored his now, covered in charcoal and pencil smears the way his were covered in grease.

“I’ll let you shower and get changed while I finish it.” She still had his hands and he was busy staring at them; it took him a minute to register what she’d said. Once he nodded, Sansa quickly stepped out of his personal space, retreating back to her side of the couch she normally sat on. He went to shower, and she noticed that he didn’t take a change of clothes with him.

While Jon showered, Sansa finished the sketch, adding in tiny details, cleaning lines, but also trying very hard not to think about Jon Snow being naked in the shower on the other side of the door straight across from her. It wasn’t even the first time that they’d been in that situation, the other being when she offered her shower to him back in Winterfell.

When she heard the shower shut off, Sansa was curious to see how Jon would handle the situation, especially considering that she’d just drawn his bare torso. She wanted him to be all right with it, to be comfortable around her, even in a literally naked state, but she understood that he was raised differently, wasn’t exposed to the human body the way she was through her art. She knew that for him being naked with someone, literally or figuratively, was probably a much bigger deal for him than it was for her. So when the door opened, Sansa purposefully adverted her eyes, giving him privacy to hurry across the room and shut his bedroom door behind him.

When he came back out, she presented him with the sketch but then sitting back on her normal end of the sofa. She thought it would be awkward to peer over his shoulder.

“All right, you’re the first man I’ve drawn—we’ve only done women so far in my class, so no making fun,” she told him, though Sansa was sure Jon would never make fun of her. “What… what do you think?”

“Sansa…” He said her name in an exhale and she felt something bigger than butterflies, probably birds, take up residence in her stomach. It was the way he said her name, the way he made the second _s_ sound like a _z_ that caused it. _San-zuh_ , not _San-sah._ “I don’t… I can’t… It’s beautiful…” She noticed how gingerly he was holding the pad, as if it were fragile, make of glass.

He over at at her, his eyes soft in a way she’d only seen when she gave him the map and when they talked and watched movies until the very early morning. She wanted with her whole heart to get up and kiss him, not like she did at New Year’s, but a real kiss. She didn’t, though, because she didn’t want something to taint the moment. It was about showing him how she saw him, not about showing him how she felt. They had plenty of time for that.

“Thanks for letting me draw you. Again.” Her voice was quieter than she intended it to be. He nodded, moving to pass back her sketchbook. They were quiet for a minute, and she could tell Jon was still processing the sketch.

She wanted to tell him that Robb had come over, said he didn’t care, but Jon spoke first.

“So was it Margaery or Loras?” Jon asked, plopping down on the other end of the couch. He was in sweat pants as well, a large hoodie with the name of the auto shop he worked for on the breast.

“Actually it was Dany and Drogo again. They were having loud marathon sex.” She looked Jon dead in the eye when she said it, and was able to see the way his eyes shifted and they way his face colored. When she continued to hold his eyes and didn’t blink, he coughed awkwardly. Sansa could barely suppress her giggle. Once Jon recovered, he ran his clean hands through his damp curls, pushing them out of his face, behind his ears.

“Are you hungry? Can I make you something? Haven’t had anything to eat since my shift started.”

“I could eat, yeah.” Jon quickly pushed himself up, and Sansa started to follow him.

“Oh, no, you keep studying.”

“What? No. I’ll help.” He started to protest again, but Sansa cut him off. “I haven’t started studying anyway.” Jon sighed, relenting. “What can I do?” She joined him in the kitchen, though it was barely meant to fit one person. He was rummaging around in his freezer while Sansa stood back, hands awkwardly in the pockets of Jon’s sweat pants.

“Erm, turn the stove and oven on? Is soup all right?” Sansa nodded, quickly turning the dials. Jon pulled out a box of frozen rolls and a can of soup from the cupboard next to it. “Thanks.”

Sansa tried to help more, but she was mostly just getting in his way. She had the feeling that he didn’t cook for people often, or have people over period. She sat in the chair he normally used while studying, curled up, and watched him. Jon didn’t have a microwave, or a watch, or a timer on the stove, and yet he knew when everything was ready without having to check the clock on his phone. She wondered if part of it was because he could actually sense the time passing, or if it was because he’d made the meal so many times.

“Could you get the bowls from the cupboard?” Jon asked, while taking out the rolls. Sansa agreed, skirting gracefully around him to the cupboard she remembered him getting a plate from when she had breakfast after he rescued her.

In the cupboard, she’d expected to see sets of four. That’s how dishes came she knew, from buying her own, from her mother complaining when one broke that she’d have to buy a _whole new set_. Four mugs, four bowls, four salad plates, and four dinner plates, plus silverware. That wasn’t quiet what was in Jon Snow’s cupboard though. He had a mug, two salad plates, two bowls, and a couple glasses, none of which matched. Sansa thought it looked as if it had all come from a bargain bin in a second hand shop, and realized a beat to late that it probably all had. She quickly pulled the two bowls down, praying to the old gods that he hadn’t noticed her hesitation.

“Spoons?”

“On the left. Do you want something to drink?”

“Water’s fine.” She retrieved the glasses she had seen previously. Sansa finished setting the table, adjusting the spoons and the napkins they were laid on top of, just the way Catelyn had shown her. She waited until he’d set the pot of soup and the pan of rolls on the table, until he’d sat to sit herself. She was sure he had a usual place he sat, and she didn’t want to take his place. He sat in the place she’d been sat in while he cooked, so she took the other chair.

“Is that enough?” Jon passed back the bowl and Sansa nodded. “Roll?”

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Sansa picked the roll apart and dropped it into the soup the way some did crackers. They ate quietly for a few moments, and Sansa spent every bite trying to think of something to say. This felt too familiar, too much like their meals at Winterfell, where the two of them would sit quietly, listening to polite conversation.

Jon and Sansa were not the two who carried the conversation but only stepped in when questions were directed toward them. It was the type of quiet that typically drove Arya to cause some sort of disruption. Sansa tried to think of something, anything to say, to ask him, to tell him. She would ask him about his classes, but since they started studying together she already knew about his classes. She knew a lot about what was going on in his life, and he knew a lot about what was going on in hers. She couldn’t think of any way to start a conversation with him.

“So what made you want to study history?” she asked at last, cupping the bowl in her hands.

“Erm…” Jon hesitated, dipping his roll in his soup. “I liked the idea of there being something that came previously. I liked to learn about all these great, grand stories of people who were bastards that were able to rise through the ranks. The same reason I liked _A Knight’s Tale_ so much. It’s proof that your circumstances don’t confine you.” Jon’s eyes had turned fiery in talking about it and his passion was almost hard for Sansa to look at. “What about you? Why study art?”

“It’s the only thing I’m good at,” she replied instantly. Jon’s eyes shot sharply over to hers.

“That can’t be true,” he immediately insisted. She glanced at him, brows rising in confusion. His face turned back into the broody look she realized he typically wore. His lips turned down, but not in the way that indicated he was going to smile, and his eyes softened.

“I’ve only just started to enjoy history, because of you, and I like literature, but I could never study it. I don’t have the brain for math or science or business,” she shrugged. Catelyn had even suggested she take a year or two off before starting university, if she started university. Or if she was going to study art, she should do it somewhere closer to home. Really, Catelyn had thought whatever she studied, it should be far closer to home than KLU. Ned disagreed though. Ned said they would make it work if she wanted to attend a southron university, even if she was majoring in Fine Arts.

“Art’s not the only thing you’re good at. I mean, you’re definitely good at it, but you’re good at other things too. You may have just picked up an interest in history, but you’ve caught on quick. You’re brilliant with people, a good listene—”

“That won’t get me a career,” Sansa pointed out. Yes, she was a people person; she could put people at ease. Catelyn had suggested that she’d make a lovely receptionist or secretary to some business in Winterfell. Jon scoffed, looking almost irritated.

“You _care_ about everyone. You put everyone else’s happiness before your own. I would have _killed_ to have a social worker like you, Sansa. Might’ve had a family,” he muttered bitterly, most of the words directed into his bowl. Sansa stared at her soup, feeling as though she’d been scolded. She felt the same way she had when she had made a jest at Arya wanting to learn sword fighting but Jon had answered. Her face colored in the same way it had then.

“I’m sorry, I didn—” she whispered. Jon slid his chair back, pushing his hair roughly out of his face.

Sansa stayed where she was, focused on her lunch. At least, she did, but then she realized that he wasn’t pulling away because he was angry or frustrated. He was retreating.

“Jon, wait.” Sansa was out of her chair as well, following him across the apartment to his room, his bed. He had collapsed against it, arms braced on his knees. Sansa sat right in front of him.

She didn’t know convince him to take his guard back down, not when she wasn’t wholly sure what caused it to slam back up. She thought— _thought—_ that it could have been him admitting something so personal as _might’ve had a family_ if he had a social worker that cared. That implied that he had a shit social worker, shit childhood, shit upbringing.

He’d mentioned bits and pieces before, the different homes, the group homes, the one home he was at for three years and learned about cars, but nothing to quite the same degree of what he’d just said. Sansa had no idea what to do with herself, how to help him. So she just sat there quietly with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter guys, I promise.


	14. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we made it! I'm sorry for not posting it earlier--I got distracted watching Miss Congeniality.

He’d heard her follow him in, say _wait_ , say his name, say _Jon_ , but he was too embarrassed. He couldn’t explain or take back what he had said. It wasn’t so much what he revealed about his past. He could deal with that, with Sansa knowing that he’d had a fucked up upbringing; he’d hinted at it before. The pity he could deal with—he was used to that.

What caused him to run was what he’d said _about_ Sansa. _You’re brilliant with people, a good listener. You_ care _about everyone. You put everyone’s happiness before your own. I would have_ killed _to have a social worker like you, Sansa._

It was all true, but what terrified him was that he hadn’t even realized he’d thought that about her, not consciously: how much better his life would have been with her in it, how much better it _was_ with her in it. How absolutely _petrified_ he was about her walking out of his life, because he survived Ygritte, he survived everyone else, but how many times could he be broken before the pieces were too small to be worth trying to put back together?

“Jon?” Her voice was quiet, hesitant, more of a breath than anything else. He’d heard her sit down in front of him. He thought that he’d been sitting there for several minutes and he kept expecting her to get up, to leave, because that’s what everyone else did. Even when he didn’t move, didn’t respond, she didn’t get up.

“Jon?” Sansa’s voice was softer, gentler, and closer. Then he felt a feather light brush against the back of his hand. That caused his gut to clench. Her hand covered his, and then slid under it, touching his knee. Jon took a deep breath, hoping it didn’t sound as affected as it felt.

Slowly, carefully, Sansa managed to split his arms apart, push his knees to the side, and completely break in. She didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. Sansa wrapped her arms so tightly around him that Jon didn’t have a choice but to respond in kind, his arms as tight across her back as he could make them, an intensified version of when they hugged after the lecture. He felt her hand reach into his hair and he buried his head in her shoulder. He couldn’t believe how good it felt to be held.

Jon wasn’t really sure how long they sat in that position, with him clinging onto Sansa with his life, but when he started to loosen his grip, she loosened hers at the same pace. She didn’t rush to escape. She didn’t even let him fully out of her grasp, keeping her hands on his arms, as they pulled apart. Sansa had no problem meeting his eyes, offering up a weak smile. He found himself staring at her smile, her mouth, her lips. He couldn’t rip his eyes away.

“Jon…” she breathed, and he watched as, in slow motion, her lips formed the letters of his name.

He didn’t think he’d ever actually enjoyed the way anyone had said his name. It had too often been barked, been yelled, used to scold. It was never said in a loving tone, a comforting tone, warm tone. There was always that edge, that coldness. Not the way Sansa said his name though. Her accent made it sound like it had been coated in honey and the way she said it warmed something deep inside him.

He hadn’t noticed how long he’d been staring at her mouth, even after she said his name. But then he wasn't staring at her mouth anymore, because it was on his, and Sansa Stark was kissing him.

_Sansa Stark was kissing him._

Robb Stark’s little sister was kissing him.

Not the type of kiss that they had shared on New Year’s, but the real kind that hinted at more. Even so, this was not a kiss filled with need, the way his hook ups had been, or the way it had been half the time with Ygritte. It was filled with _want_ , with an implication of _yes, yes I am kissing you because I want to kiss **you** , not because I have to kiss somebody and you’re right here. _It was a new experience for Jon.

When Sansa pulled back, she left her fingers resting in his hair, on the back of his neck. It was a constant, warm pressure. Jon thought he could live in this moment for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry…” Jon started, embarrassed and ashamed at having kissed her back. It was just that she stayed.

“No, no. Don’t apologize. I kissed you,” she pointed out. Jon didn’t think it mattered. He had kissed her back.

“I shouldn’t have let this happen,” Jon muttered. Sansa sat back, her hands falling from him for the first time. He saw her eyes cloud.

“Why shouldn’t that have happened?” she asked evenly. Jon hesitated, not knowing how to respond. “Have you got a significant other?”

“Erm, n-no,” he stuttered out.

“Are you attracted to me, Jon?” There was a slight teasing lilt to her voice with his question, and Jon felt his face redden at the question, at the answer.

“Sansa…”

“Are you, Jon? Because I’m attracted to you. I _like_ you. I haven’t got a boyfriend. Those are the two limiting factors that I can reckon.” She sounded so controlled and logical that Jon thought it almost sounded like they were having a completely different conversation.

He only thought of any of this though, after he got over the shock of hearing her say, _I’m attracted to you_. Hearing that confirmation, validation that she was attracted to him as well. That she must not have seen him the same way he saw himself—if she did there would be no way in the seven hells that she would be attracted to him.

The thought of someone like Sansa, as lovely as Sansa, being attracted to him— _liking_ him, after knowing all that she did, and still kissing him as she did, well it gave him hope.

“Sansa, Robb is my best friend. He’s all I have…”

“You have me, Jon.” That struck him. He just didn’t realize that he had Sansa. She was in his life the same way Robb was. She was in his life as her own person, as Sansa, and not as Robb’s little sister.

“We can’t…” Sansa shifted, her eyes flickering quickly with irritation. He didn’t know how to say _we can’t, because if I never start, then we can’t end. I can’t loose you if I never have you in the first place._

“If you’re not attracted to me, I can accept that. If you’re worried about it because of Robb, I can’t. Robb gave us permission. He said he’s all right with whatever’s going on between us. He came to see me today, to tell me that. He’d said he’d talked to you last night, that you’d told him about New Year’s and that we’ve been hanging out. If it’s something else though, please tell me.” Her voice was quiet but not pity quiet. She was giving him an opportunity to say _it’s something else,_ and he was sure if he did, she wouldn’t press it. Except he didn’t say anything.

“If I’m wrong, if I’ve misread this entire situation, please, Jon, tell me now and we’ll go back to being friends.”

 _Back to being friends._ Even if he didn’t want anything romantic, she was all right with being friends. If he said no, she wasn’t going to walk out, wasn’t going to leave. She was going to stay. It was that, that little phrase she’d added on: _back to being friends_ that made him do it. Lean forward and kiss her. A kiss that fell somewhere between what they had shared on New Year’s and what they had shared only minutes before. He brought his hands to her face, cupping it, the way he’d wanted to since she had asked him to play cards with her in Winterfell.

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent similarly to others they had shared at his apartment, with both of them studying, but there were small changes that Jon seemed to have a hyperawareness of. He had elected to sit on the other end of the sofa rather than the kitchen chair. Sansa sat closer to him, her painted toes almost touching his thigh. She would occasionally look up at him, catch his eye, and smile.

They were small differences, unnoticeable and unperceivable to others, but all of these were things that made Jon Snow’s heart race, though none of them as much as when Sansa was packing up to leave, having stayed a little longer than she generally did.

She was still in his sweatpants and flannel, and he thought he would never find her more attractive than she was in that outfit. After promising to return his clothes, and reassuring him that she was fine to walk home, she hugged him. Jon was pretty sure he’d never been hugged so much in his life. Ygritte was not a hugging person, and no one else from his childhood had been physically affectionate. He hugged her back as tightly as he did every other time, part of his brain, or maybe it was his heart, screaming at him to never let her go.

She kissed his cheek once before releasing him and saying again that she’d text him as soon as she was home safe. This time, when she left, his apartment didn’t dull and chill. He could still feel her warmth.

* * *

There, apparently, was a noticeable difference to others after what had happened between him and Sansa, Jon realized at work the next day. He’d been at work all of two hours when Edd, Grenn, and Pyp cornered him during a lull. Jon had been checking his phone, not for the first time, hoping to see a text from Sansa.

“Must’ve given your number to some lass last night. Never seen you look at your phone that much,” Pyp commented.

“Nah, he must’ve _gotten_ some lass’s number and he’s debating on whether or not to call her. _Should I give up my broody ways when it’s gotten me laid so often?_ ” Grenn corrected. The men guffawed. Jon rolled his eyes.

“Either way, Jon’s got a girl on his mind,” Edd cut through. “And Jon’s _never_ got a girl on his mind. Must be someone special.” Jon stayed quiet. He was used to this—the men generally came in, talking about the girls they wanted or the girls they’d been with.

He and Sam, the bookkeeper and scheduler, were the only ones who never joined in. Sam never shared because he turned red and stuttered when faced with women. Jon never did because he didn’t like talking about it with the lads. It didn’t seem right to him. They’d seen him go home with girls though, on nights when they went out together, and had seen the little notes and numbers female costumers would occasionally leave him. But he never spoke of it, never constantly checked his phone. None of that had meant anything, but Sansa meant everything.

“Is it that girl? Your friend from school’s sister?” Sam called down from the office that looked over the shop. Jon sent him a look, even though he knew Sam couldn’t see it from where he was. Jon had told Sam about Sansa when he had first found the sketch in his bag and they were the only two working.

“So there _is_ a girl!”

“Well, see, there’s the thing. Jon’s conflicted because she’s his best friend’s younger sister and she—”

“Thank you, Sam,” Jon called pointedly, cutting him off. He had been planning on filling in Sam later, asking his opinion, but Jon was hesitant now, considering that Sam had no qualms about sprouting Jon’s business for all to hear.

“Something must’ve happened,” Sam muttered, loud enough for the four of them to hear, “If Jon is mooning over his phone.”

“I don’t _moon_!” Jon yelped indignantly.

“Yeah? Is that the way of it?” Edd asked, sitting himself on an overturned bucket. Jon sighed, running his hand over his face, hoping to the old gods that a car would pull in that second but the gods, old or new, never listened to him, so why would they start now?

“I told Robb.” This side of things he felt he could share. He didn’t want to share what happened yesterday without fully processing it himself first.

“Her brother?” Jon nodded.

“And?”

“He more or less told me he was all right with it.”

“And what of the girl?” Did you tell her that her brother’s given you lot permission?”

“Didn’t need to. He told her the same thing. “

“Jon, you are drawing out this story.”

“We kissed.”

“Jon, Seven save me, I swear…”

“That’s it! We spent the rest of the time studying. Haven’t heard from her since, aside from a bit last night.”

“Jon, you bloomin’ idiot!” This was Edd, who was older than the other four, being in his early thirties and not early twenties. “She’s most like waiting on _you_. Ask her on a date. A proper date. Studying at yours doesn’t count. Take her out.”

“There’s a lovely little place just outside of town…” Sam started, offering suggestions.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes!” This was a chorus of all of them. “Go, now. Call her. It’s eleven on a Sunday. No one’s coming in for a while.” Jon reluctantly pulled out his phone, listening to them.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to call Sansa, to take her on a real date. It was that he had never been the one to initiate contact, with the one exception of when she’d disappeared for a week and he needed to know if she was all right. She was always the first to send a text, ask if she could study at his. The idea of calling, specifically calling and not texting, was enough to cause his nerves to overtake him.

“Where’re you going?” Pyp called after him, as he ducked out the service door and into the lobby.

“Away from you lot.” The service door shutting behind him muted the laughter from the men. Jon walked to one of the chairs across from the desk, tucked into the corner where he wasn’t visible through the glass doors.

He held his phone, Sansa’s number on his screen. He wanted to call her, wanted to ask her out. He knew his friends were right, that it was his turn to make a move. She kissed him, came straight out and said she was attracted to him, that she liked him.

The prospect was terrifying though. He hadn’t asked anyone out in years—since before Ygritte; Ygritte had asked him out, because that was how she was, and after that it was only occasional one-night stands. He may have asked out a girl or two before he started dating Ygritte, maybe one or two in high school. He didn’t recall any of those times ending particularly well. One said _no,_ and not very politely, one laughed, one stood him up, and one misinterpreted the date for a study session.

This was Sansa though, he reminded himself. She was the one who never looked at him with pity or laughed at him. She was the one who, with only having known him two weeks, gave him the best present he’d ever received.

“Hello?” Sansa answered, once he finally drummed up the nerve to press the green button.

“Erm, hi, Sansa.” Jon launched himself out of his chair, finding it easier to talk to her if he was pacing.

“Jon?” He thought she sounded confused and distracted, which he took for a bad sign. “Is everything all right?” And suddenly, her voice didn’t sound like either of those things. She sounded concerned.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I was, erm. I was just wondering… if you wanted to go out tonight?” He paused, leaning his head against the glass, waiting for her response.

“To the Crooked Mane?”

“Actually, I was thinking—hang on— _Grenn, I swear on all the gods if you don’t shove off_ …” Jon growled at his friend whose head was poking through Sam’s office door. His cackling filled the lobby before he redirected his attention to Sansa. “Sorry. I was thinking maybe dinner. Just…you and I?”

“Like a date?” He could hear the smile in her voice and he had to remind himself that this was not a mocking smile she would be wearing. It would be the smile she wore after she hugged him on their way out of the café, the smile she had when she admitted to drawing him on New Year’s.

“Yeah, yeah. Like a date,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut and his fist pressed to his forehead.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Really?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Yeah.” He could still hear the smile in her voice.

“All right. I’ll pick you up around seven? Does that work?”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll see you at seven.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.” They hung up and even though Jon was still pressing his head into the wall, he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. _She said yes._

* * *

 

It was half past five and Jon was freaking out. He didn’t own nice clothes. Sam had promised the place wasn’t fancy—he could wear jeans, but Jon only had the one nice shirt. It was the white one he’d worn up to Winterfell because he had wanted to make a good impression on the Starks. Sansa had already seen him in it. He supposed it didn’t matter—one white shirt wasn’t that different from another, but he wished he had something more or better to wear. This was important to him and he needed her to know that.

What to wear wasn’t the only thing that had Jon on edge. Just thinking about the idea of going on a date with Sansa Stark had him more nervous than he’d ever admit. He hadn’t been on a date in years, and he’d never been on a date with someone he cared about as much as he did Sansa. He didn’t think he’d ever cared about someone the way he cared about her. He was pretty sure he’d been in love with Ygritte, but this felt different. Sansa cared about him in a way that Ygritte never had. He wasn’t sure which he found more terrifying: how much he cared for Sansa or how quickly he was getting used to being cared for by her. 

* * *

 

Jon got to Sansa’s house early but he sat in the car until almost seven, steeling his nerves until he could go up the walkway. He felt like he was a child again, waiting on the porch of some new foster family. The nerves pulsed through him the same way they did then.

They all disappeared, replaced with the warm feeling, when Sansa opened the door. She graced him with his beautiful smile, and this time when his heart started beating faster it didn’t make him feel sick.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” She closed the door behind her. Before Jon realized it, Sansa’s hand was wrapped in his. Her hand was smaller, slimmer, and softer than his and he never thought holding hands with somebody could be this intimate.

It made him want to hold her, in the way Ygritte never wanted him too, where they were cocooned around each other. He briefly considered asking her back to his after the date but immediately chastised himself for it. Sansa wasn’t that type of girl, even if that wasn’t what he was implying.

On the car ride to the restaurant, Sansa kept looking at him and smiling, almost blushing. It was as if she was nervous too. Jon found the thought reassuring.

When they pulled up outside, Jon suddenly had regrets about taking Sam’s advice on the restaurant. It did not look like a place college students went on first dates. It looked far fancier than Sam had implied. Jon thought it looked like the place Sansa deserved to be taken to, but he doubted he would belong in there.

Jon glanced at Sansa, and there was an unreadable expression on her face. Jon didn’t want to dwell on that.

She held his hand again as they walked through the parking lot and he drew strength from her warmth. It was only with her hand in his that he was able to push through the doors and into the lobby of the restaurant. The place was far grander on the inside than it was on the outside.

Jon gave his name to the woman behind the table, who told them they were running behind. She handed them menus and told them they could wait at the bar until the table was ready.

Neither of them chose to order a drink, both looking at the menu. Jon’s heart dropped when he saw the prices. They weren’t expensive, not as bad as they could have been, but it was more than he liked to play for a meal, let alone two of them. His heart dropped even further when he heard Sansa give a resigned sigh and set the menu on the bar.

“Have you been here before?” he asked, wondering if all of the men she went out with took her here.

“No. Have you?” Jon shook his head, a few curls coming untucked.

“My friend recommended it. I should’ve checked it out before hand. He’s got slightly different tastes.” Her head turned quickly.

“This isn’t your style?” Were it anyone but Sansa, he would’ve taken it was mocking, but it was Sansa and he knew she would never mock him.

“Not really,” he admitted. She grinned.

“Good. Mine either.” She took his hand, pulling him from the stool, thanked the hostess, and lead him back to the car. “Take me to your favorite place in the city,” she instructed, once they were in the car. Jon didn’t hesitate before putting the car in gear.

Jon drove them back over to the side of the city where his apartment was and he took her to the taco place he and Robb ordered from occasionally. He felt far more at ease walking in with her here than he had at the other restaurant. She looked more at ease too, which lessened the worries he’d been feeling on and off since New Year’s: the question of whether or not he was good enough for a woman like Sansa.

Jon had been nervous about what they would talk about on the date; it wasn’t like they were just getting to know each other. They’d been friends for a few months now. The conversations that would be typically covered on the first date they’d gone through a while ago.

He’d never been on a date with someone he already knew, was already friends with. But this was Sansa he was with, and talking with her was easy. It wasn’t that different from every other time they’d hung out, from the first night in Winterfell, New Year’s, and all the afternoons they spent studying together.

The ease of it would have concerned him—the fact that it didn’t feel much different from the times they’d hung out as friends. But then, near the end of the meal, Sansa looked up from her plate and there was something different in her eyes, a certain glitter that hadn’t been there before, and her smile was different too. It was flirtatious, he realized. The realization should have made his heart relax but instead it started beating faster.

After they ate, Jon wasn’t sure where the date was supposed to lead. He hadn’t planned on a movie, or anything beyond the dinner. He didn’t know where to take her next, all he knew was he wasn’t ready for the night to end yet.

On the way out of the restaurant, Sansa paused at the bulletin board.

“Oh, look. Campus has laser tag tonight,” she commented, pointing to a flyer. He couldn’t believe that she sounded interested in it. Even with how well he knew her, that surprised him. He didn’t see her as the laser tag type of woman, but he also didn’t see her as the type of woman who would want to date him, so what did he know?

“Do you wanna go?”

“Oh, sorry, did you have something else planned? I…” Her face flushed pink.

“No, I didn’t, actually.” The smile she gave was infectious.

* * *

 

They both sucked at laser tag. He and Sansa spent most of their time running and hiding behind the foam walls than actually shooting at the other team. Jon didn’t care about the score—he knew if he went on a date like this with Ygritte she would’ve been focused on winning, but Sansa wasn’t.

She was laughing the whole time, teeth nearly glowing under the black light. Every time they heard the other team getting close she would grab his hand and tell him to run. She’d look back and smile at him, whole face alight with joy. She would shriek his name, laughing , excited. He grinned every time his name left her lips. She would collapse against him in a fit of giggles at one of them being shot. The whole time they were in the arena, Sansa was touching him and laughing. He couldn’t help but join in, and Jon couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so much.

* * *

 

At the end of the night, Jon walked Sansa to her door, her hand folded in his. She kept looking at him from the corner of her eye and smiling. It made Jon smile too. He had never ended a date with such a big smile on his face.

On the porch, Sansa turned to face him. She looked at him with such a soft, tender look that Jon had no hesitation when he reached up, rough fingers pushing the stray strands of hair back behind her ear. His hand followed the length of her jaw, then back to cradle it. Her hands hand settled on his waist, pulling him closer, until their bodies were flushed.

“Kiss me, Jon,” she breathed, so he did. It was soft, tender, and caring. There was no heat, but there was passion. It was an innocent first kiss—even though it wasn’t their first—and when they broke he rested his forehead against hers.

 _Seven hells, I’m in love with her,_ he realized with horror.


	15. Sansa

If Sansa’s roommates thought she made excessive excuses to spend time with Jon before, she was curious as to what they thought now. If neither of them were in class or working on a paper and Jon wasn’t working, they were together. She usually went to his to spare him the comments of Margaery and her other roommates, but after a week of that, her best friend confronted her.

“How come Jon never comes to yours?” Sansa looked up from the textbook she’d been taking notes from.

“Because he lives alone.”

“Ah. So you guys go over there to hook up.” Sansa’s whole body covered with blotchy heat. She was dating Jon, at least she was pretty sure they were dating, but she hadn’t really thought about that side of things yet. “Anyway, you should have dinner over here this weekend, as I haven’t met him properly yet,” Margaery continued, apparently oblivious.

“You’ve met him, more than once,” Sansa corrected, once she’d collected herself from the previous comment.

“Barely. And not as your boyfriend.”

“I don’t know that he’s my boyfriend.” This admission was partially to stall and deter Margaery from furthering the discussion, but it was also the truth. She didn’t know if they were actually dating, or if they were just doing what they’d done before with more touching and occasional kissing. If Sansa said that out loud, Margaery would probably tell her that was the most innocent version of friends with benefits she’d ever heart of.

“Please. He’s probably been in love with you since you made the map for him.” Sansa scoffed, but otherwise ignored the comment. “I promise it’ll just be you two and me. Dany and Drogo have something this weekend anyway, and Loras went home. It’s the perfect weekend. It’ll be low-key. I promise.” Margaery gave her the pleading eyes that always got her to the front of the line without people being mad at her and Sansa sighed.

“Let me talk to Jon. No promises though. I’m not doing anything he’s uncomfortable with.”

“Of course not. And if you don’t know if he’s your boyfriend or not, you may want to talk about that too,” Margaery said pointedly before ducking out of the room.

Once she was gone, Sansa sighed, setting her pen down. She knew Margaery was right about talking to Jon, not about the dinner, but the other thing. Whether or not they were officially dating. They’d been on a date, they’d kissed, they both admitted they were attracted to each other, and if they were in high school, Sansa would say that all pointed to them dating. But she knew adult relationships worked differently. You could date, but not be exclusive, not be in a relationship.

Sansa had no experience with adult relationships, and she knew Jon did. He’d been in a long-term relationship before, and the longest boyfriend Sansa had in high school was two months.

Sansa knew it was a conversation they’d have to have, but she didn’t know how to bring it up. She didn’t want to be presumptuous, but she also didn’t want to accidently offend Jon by implying that they weren’t. She didn’t really know how to ask either, without sounding like a little girl.

She knew Jon wouldn’t make fun of her though, no matter how childish she sounded asking. That wasn’t her concern. It was that she would ask her stupid little girl question, and Jon would remember that she was Robb’s little sister, she was four years younger than him, and inexperienced. Sansa knew that was why Jon was so hesitant before, always making sure not to cross any line. Because she was Robb’s little sister, and Robb was his best friend. She didn’t know how to prove to him that she would never do anything to mess up his friendship with Robb, and even if she accidentally did, he would still have her. That seemed to be the part he didn’t understand. He would still have her.

* * *

 

Sansa’s feet were in Jon’s lap, propping up the textbook he was reading. She was sketching his hands, the way they held the book, the pen, her ankle.

Her professor had liked her proposal for the showcase, but wanted more than just what she submitted. There had only been a handful of each on the pages. Her professor had told her to keep sketching up until the showcase then choose which sets of hands, eyes, and lips she wanted. That meant Sansa had now had dozens of sketches of those parts of Jon.

She wondered if he knew that’s what she was drawing. She’d told him, more than once, about how often she’d drawn him in Winterfell, but saying she’d drawn him a bunch and the fact that half her sketchbook was full of him weren’t really the same thing.

Sansa watched him for a minute, considering. There was a certain look he had she wanted to draw, but she didn’t know how to get him to get that look in his eyes. It was the look he had when she said _you have me, Jon_ and again after he kissed her at the end of the date. The look was so soft and gentle and unguarded. She wanted to show that side of Jon. She just wasn’t sure how to get him to look at her with that long enough for her to draw it.

“Sansa? Are you all right?” Jon was looking at her, concerned.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was staring, wasn’t I?” He nodded, a corner of his mouth turning up just slightly. “Just admiring the view.” The corner turned up higher and his face colored as he ducked his head.

Sansa set her sketchbook to the side, pulling her legs from Jon’s lap. She curled up next to him, pressing a kiss just above his beard. She loved that she was able to do this. To kiss him, touch him, and how every time she did he looked softly surprised. It was as if he couldn’t believe she was his.

Sansa kissed him again, because she could, and Jon let out a low groan. He pushed the textbook out of his lap and pulled her into it. Not so she was straddling him, but so that she was across him, back against the armrest. One of his arms went around her back and the other was on her leg. He held her tightly; he always did.

Neither of them said anything. In the past week, Sansa realized that Jon loved holding her. Every time they took a break from studying, he would put his arms around her, pull her against him, wrap her up and hold her.

She always held him back, even if it was just crossing her hand over his and twining their fingers together. Sansa leaned her head against his shoulder, pushing them closer together. It was important to her that she held him too. She had a feeling he didn’t get as much contact growing up as she did, in a house with two loving parents and four siblings.

“Jon?” she asked quietly, holding his hands in hers, fingers tracing the lines on his palm.

“Hmm?” he hummed into the top of her head.

“Do you’ve plans this weekend?”

“Besides spending it with you?” She smiled, bringing his hand up to kiss it.

“Margaery wants to have dinner with us. Just the three of us, at ours. She promised it’d be low-key. She just wants to meet you.” She felt Jon’s head leave hers and she turned her face upward, tying to see his.

“She’s met me? More than once?” Sansa could hear the confusion in his voice and she realized that maybe sitting so they could only see each other’s profiles was better.

“I know. But all of those times were with other people, or were focused on something else. She said she didn’t get to talk to you enough. Plus, she said she wants to meet you as—” Sansa stopped abruptly. She could only guess what Jon’s face looked like in that moment. She leaned back, lifting her head from his shoulder, so that she could see his face.

“As what?” He said it slowly. The fact his eyes were guarded again pained her. She knew she had to ask, even if it was embarrassing and made her sound like she was sixteen, not nineteen. But she would rather embarrass herself than cause Jon pain.

“What are we, Jon?” Sansa didn’t look at him when she asked. She had his hand again, was tracing the veins on the back of it. His hand flexed around hers, tightening only briefly.

“What’d you mean?” His words were careful and Sansa couldn’t bear to lift her eyes. She was sure her face was red already.

“Are we dating?” Sansa heard Jon’s sharp intake of breath and continued quickly. “My last boyfriend was in high school and we dated for two months. He walked me to my classes and that meant we were dating. I know adult relationships work differently, so I guess I’m asking if we’re exclusive? Are we in a relationship?” It all came out hurriedly. To her surprise, she felt Jon’s body relax next to hers.

“Sansa, I haven’t thought about anyone else since I saw you waiting by Robb’s car.” His fingers slid through her hair. “We’re whatever you want us to be.” His hand tightened around hers again.

“All right. Margaery wants to meet you as my boyfriend, then.” She looked up, thinking to maybe see a playful look on his face, but instead it was the soft one, the one she wanted to draw, but she knew better than to break the moment by reaching for her sketchbook.

“Just the three of us?” He looked hesitant, but open and trusting. She only hoped that Margaery wouldn’t make her regret talking Jon into this.

“Just dinner. It’s not anything formal. I promise.”

“All right. I can do that,” Jon nodded. He still looked unsure and Sansa leaned in to kiss his cheek again, to get that look to disappear. His face softened again.

 _After the dinner, we’ll do something he wants,_ she thought. _Whatever he wants._

* * *

 

Margaery kept texting Sansa while she sketched Jon studying. Her texts reassured Sansa. She was out doing grocery shopping and she wanted to know if Jon liked this or that, if he was allergic to anything. She must’ve seen Sansa’s concern earlier and wanted to make both of them comfortable with this dinner. Sansa was grateful for it. She hadn’t told Margaery much about Jon, just that he was shy and didn’t do well with crowds. She wasn’t sure exactly how true that statement was: she knew he was more comfortable one-on-one, but she didn’t exactly think it was because he was shy. But she didn’t want to explain to Margaery why she thought Jon was always so quiet. She wouldn’t betray his trust that way.

“Are you ready?” Sansa asked, tightening her hold on his hand. They’d walked back from his together, early enough to give Sansa time to change out of the sweats she’d worn all day. She was sure Margaery would meet them in the kitchen though. Jon nodded, not at all looking ready. She squeezed his hand again, hoping it was enough.

Sansa opened the door to the house quietly, though she doubted Margaery would be able to hear it from upstairs. She thought if they moved quickly and quietly enough they could get to her room before Margaery realized they were back. She and Jon tiptoed up the stairs.

She almost felt like she was trying to sneak Jon in past her parents in the dead of night and the idea excited her. She felt reckless, dangerous, even though they were sneaking past her best friend, it was late afternoon, and it wasn’t her parents’ house.

Except she’d never sneak Jon anywhere—she wasn’t ashamed of him. She wouldn’t sneak around with him or keep him a secret. She wanted everyone to know just how wonderful he was.

To Sansa’s joy, Margaery wasn’t in the kitchen. Sansa thought she’d heard music coming from her room, so she quickly pulled Jon by the hand into hers and shut the door behind him.

“I’ve just gotta change and put on a little makeup.” Sansa pulled off the hoodie she’d been wearing, going for her closet. She threw the t-shirt she’d been wearing into her laundry bin, along with her sweatpants. She heard a strangled sound behind her.

Jon was still standing by the door, looking as though he hadn’t moved. His face was flushed though, and he was staring anywhere except her. She would’ve giggled if she wasn’t so suddenly aware of how close to naked she was, standing in her bedroom, in front of Jon Snow.

Suddenly feeling bold, Sansa stepped up to Jon, until they were nearly touching. She took his face in her hands, forcing his eyes to her.

“You can look, you know. We _are_ dating,” Sansa murmured, moving her hands to rest on his shoulders. She felt his hands, feather light, on her bare waist.

“Seven hells,” he breathed, and Sansa couldn’t help the smile that lit up her face. It wasn’t as though she was in a particularly sexy set of underwear. She wore black cotton hipsters and a grey t-shirt bra, because it was Friday and she had planned on being comfortable all day. The way Jon stared at her though, made it seem like she was wearing the most expensive, sexy lingerie.

Jon’s eyes were dark, and Sansa felt a blush overtaking her with the way his eyes roamed her hungrily. His eyes settled on her lips and she started to tip her head to his, lips parted.

“Sansa? Are you home?” Margaery called through the door. Jon leapt away from her as if they’d been caught doing something indecent by her parents.

“Yeah, I’m just changing. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“All right. Dinner’ll be ready in probably twenty minutes.” Sansa called back a confirmation that she’d heard and waited until Margaery’s footsteps were no longer audible.

“Guess I should get changed,” she muttered, sparing a glance at Jon’s frozen, blushing form on the other side of the bed. “You look like you’ve never been in caught in a girl’s room before,” she joked, moving again for her closet.

“I haven’t,” came quietly from behind her. Were Jon anyone else, she would’ve assumed it was a comment on having never gotten caught, but she knew that’s not what Jon meant. Jon hadn’t been in a girl’s room. Sansa knew he and Ygritte had dated during undergrad, which meant they’d probably both lived in dorm rooms for at least half of their relationship. She’d only gotten far enough to pull a shirt from the closet before she was turning towards him.

“It’s all right. Go on and change,” he said quietly, still on the other side of the room.

“I will if you help me pick out what to wear.” She expected a sigh, some sort of statement of how she’d look beautiful in anything, some typical Jon comment. Instead, he joined her by her closet.

It was hard for Sansa not to imagine his hands touching her the same gentle way they touched her clothes as he searched for something. His fingers were deft and soft, sliding the hangers down, inspecting each option, looking as though he was imagining her in each of them.

She was surprised when he stopped half way through her closet, pulling out a rather simple outfit. She thought he’d go for something else, maybe something a little more formfitting, a little more revealing. What Jon pulled out though was a warm grey sweater, one of her nicer ones, but comfortable, and black leggings. It wasn’t all that different from what she would’ve picked for herself.

Jon was looking at her with hesitant, questioning eyes, holding the outfit as though he was scared he might have gotten it wrong.

“It’s perfect, thanks.” She leaned over to kiss him briefly before pulling on the outfit he’d handed to her.

Sansa still thought Jon looked like he thought he was out of place when she began to touch up her makeup. She could see him in her mirror. He stood where he’d been, in front of her closet, not touching anything, just looking around. She wondered if he was comparing it to her bedroom in Winterfell. That one was full of childhood, with old color schemes and belongings, whereas this one was full of her university life: pictures of her and her friends, movie posters, ticket stubs on surrounding her mirror. She wondered what he thought of the differences, of the girl she’d been and the woman she was.

* * *

 

Jon was still slightly pink in the cheeks when she pulled him from her room into the kitchen, where they both stopped dead. If Jon’s cheeks were pink before, she thought they might be red or deathly pale now. Because leaning against the counter, talking to Margaery, was Robb, a look of mild surprise on his face, staring at his little sister leading his best friend from her bedroom.

Sansa squeezed his hand, hoping it reassured him. She also found herself angling her body just slightly in front of his, as though she was creating a barrier between her boyfriend and her brother.

“Robb, hi. What’re you doing here?” A flash of confusion crossed her brother’s face.

“Margaery invited me for dinner with you two. You didn’t know?” His eyes darted to Jon and Sansa couldn’t imagine what his face was doing behind her.

“Margaery, stairs, now.” Sansa dragged her friend down to the landing where the men in the kitchen wouldn’t hear them. “What’re you doing? You said it would be low key and just the three of us!”

“Yeah, I know, but you said he might be a little uncomfortable, so I thought I’d text Robb and have him join us. They’re best friends, aren’t they?”

“Why have you even got Robb’s number?”

“From last semester, when you dropped off the earth because you had some big project and couldn’t be bothered to check your phone. He got my number from a copy of our lease your parents had.” _Huh_ , Sansa thought, vaguely remembering Rob yelling at her for not answering her phone for a week, but she hadn’t known the lengths he’d gone to to check on her.

“All right, but didn’t you think inviting him would be a little awkward for me and Jon?”

“Why? He’s your brother and Jon’s best frien— _oh_. Oh, I see what you mean. I’m sorry, I was just trying to help.”

“It’s all right,” Sansa sighed. There was nothing they could do about it now. “Just wish you would’ve warned us.”

Margaery offered another apology once they were back upstairs, to the two men who hadn’t moved from where they’d been before. Sansa thought Robb had recovered far better than Jon had—he had known what he was walking into after all.

Jon didn’t look like he’d recovered at all: he was still by her door, face was still pink, and looking highly uncomfortable. She wanted to remind him that Robb had given them his blessing, he wasn’t going to come charging across the room to take him out. He was probably just a little shocked at seeing them leave her bedroom, but any big brother would probably find that situation slightly awkward.

Sansa wondered if it was something in Jon’s past that made him react that way—eyes downcast and looking as though he expected to be suddenly rejected. The uncertainty in his eyes when they met hers almost broke her heart.

“Hey,” she murmured, wrapping her hand around his. “It’s all right.” She stared into his eyes, willing him to believe her. His face didn’t relax as much as she hoped it would though. “C’mon.” She pulled him into the kitchen, careful to keep some part of them in contact, hoping it would somehow help.

Sansa pulled a bottle of Jon’s favorite beer from the fridge—one of the actually helpful things Margaery had done earlier—and handed it to him, before passing one to Robb as well. She caught the brief wave of gratitude that crossed Jon’s face. She pulled out drinks for herself and Margaery before settling against Jon’s chest and wrapping one of his arms around her waist while Margaery finished cooking dinner. She felt his arm flex around her, and when Robb began a conversation about one of their professors, she finally felt him relax.

* * *

 

As much as Sansa hated to admit it, having Robb at dinner did actually put Jon at ease, once they’d both gotten over the shock of walking out of her room and seeing them walk out of her room. It kept the conversation off their relationship, and prevented the dinner from being some type of interrogation on Margaery’s part. Having Robb there also tamed Margaery’s comments and the few innuendoes she did make were safe and inoffensive. Jon only blushed once.

Sansa also thought it gave Jon a chance to see that he didn’t need to be wary of Robb. She realized that Jon must not have fully believed Robb being all right with it, or thought he’d change his mind, or something, because Jon looked as though he was waiting for Robb to take his blessing back for half the dinner.

It had taken her longer than she’d like to admit to put together that, with Jon’s past and upbringing, action probably meant far more to him than words. That meant Robb’s words probably meant nothing to Jon—he was watching his actions to see if his words were true. Sansa was relieved that they were, as she doubted Jon would continue anything with her if they weren’t.

* * *

 

Once Sansa and Robb shot down the drinking games Margaery wanted to play a round or two of, they all had one more drink before Robb said he had to head out, get home to Jeyne. When he left, he gave her his typical brotherly hug, but he hugged Jon as well. The hug he gave Jon was tight—she saw Jon’s eyes close, and she wondered if he did that when she hugged him too—and she thought she saw Robb whisper something to Jon, but she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that Jon looked relieved when they released.

“I should probably head home too,” Jon muttered, after Robb had left. Sansa’s eyes shot over to his, suddenly not wanting him to leave.

“It’s still early. We could watch a movie,” she offered. “Why don’t we go to yours to watch it?” she added when Margaery creeped around the corner, looking not at all innocent.

“You’re sure?” Sansa nodded, taking his hand again.

“I’m going to Jon’s! See you later,” she called to Margaery, grabbing her bag and jacket before leading Jon down the stairs and out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have finished. I'm about halfway through chapter 16, and I should have it up tomorrow, but I'll be updating a little slower after that. 
> 
> Cross your fingers for every other day! I'll do my best


	16. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished the chapter as promised!
> 
> Now let's see how long it takes me to write the next one. (I'm hoping to post on Sunday, but we'll see).
> 
> Also, heads up I didn't have time to look over this chapter at all, so I apologize in advance for any typos.

The whole walk from Sansa’s house to his apartment, Jon was far more nervous than he’d been for their first date. That had been in public, with people surrounding them at all times. It hadn’t been in the privacy of his shoebox apartment, with no safety blanket of studying. This would be the first time they’d be alone, without textbooks, as a couple.

He also wasn’t sure if she meant to watch a movie or if they should _watch a movie._ With Ygritte, it would always be the second option. But Sansa wasn’t Ygritte, and he still wasn’t sure how to read her. She was far subtler than Ygritte had been, and he tended to be oblivious.

In his apartment, Jon went to fetch his laptop for them to watch the movie on, bringing it out to the sofa. Sansa curled next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t a lot of contact, but it was so casual that Jon loved her for it.

“What’re you in the mood for?” he asked, opening the Netflix account he’d splurged on after graduating from undergrad. He felt her shrug next to him.

“You pick.” He turned, but all he could see was the top of her head.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, a’course.”

Jon surfed around the different genres, looking for something Sansa might be interested in. He thought it might be a trap. He’d heard Edd and the shop lads talk about girls doing that—saying they wanted one thing but get mad because they should’ve known it wasn’t really what they wanted.

“What about this one?” he asked, mouse hovering over a title he thought Sansa might enjoy. It was a musical, and he remembered her getting so wrapped up in her singing that one morning in Winterfell.

“Do you like musicals?” Sansa asked, raising her head from his shoulder.

“Dunno. Never watched one.”

“Don’t pick something because you think I’ll like it. I’ll love whatever you pick, because _you_ picked it.” Jon’s breath stuttered. He used to say something similar to Ygritte, always trying to show how much he would sacrifice to make her happy—in the two years they were dating, he never picked the movie and really that was the smallest thing he’d given up for her—but she had never really happy. He didn’t want the same thing to happen with him and Sansa.

“I, em…” he started. He wanted to share this with her, tell her something about Ygritte, maybe help to explain why he didn’t like the idea of being solely in charge of something, even something so small as a movie. “I used to say the same thing to Ygritte,” he tried again. He paused, trying to find the words. Sansa had moved back a little, but not far enough that they weren’t touching. She was looking at his face, patiently waiting for him to continue. “And… after two years, I resented her for always taking me up on my offer…” Those words surprised him. He hadn’t realized that was the emotion he’d felt a lot near the end, in addition to the fear of losing her, he’d also resented her, for taking everything he gave without giving anything back.

“Jon…” Sansa murmured, her hand running through his hair. He had to stop himself from leaning into her touch. He had to get this out first.

“I don’t want that happening to us. I…” _You leaving would hurt me more than her leaving did_ was what he wanted to say, but he knew that would be a lot to put on a person, even one as understanding and wonderful as Sansa. “I don’t want something that’s all give and no take, or all take and no give,” he finished, deciding that probably summed up his relationship with Ygritte without providing too much detail.

A small part of him thought that this might finally be what caused Sansa to pity him: knowing that his one relationship, the one time he felt loved, it wasn’t even a good, balanced relationship. It was lopsided—he loved her too much, and she didn’t love him enough.

Sansa’s head didn’t tip, her mouth didn’t part, and her eyes didn’t widen though. Instead, she looked determined, which Jon didn’t understand. What could she possibly be so determined about that her soft blue eyes suddenly looked steely?

“Thank you for telling me, Jon.” Despite her eyes, her voice was soft, and she moved closer again, but kept one hand in his hair, just moving it to the back of his neck, where it’d been when they’d kissed the first time. “We can agree on one then. But the same goes for you. If it doesn’t look interesting to you, you tell me, all right?” Her voice was suddenly stern and Jon thought for a moment it would make him feel chastised, but he found himself smirking, maybe because of the playful smirk on her face.

“All right,” he agreed.

They found on that looked interesting to both of them after watching a handful of trailers and checking ratings on various sites.

They began watching with Jon’s laptop balanced on his lap and Sansa curled into his side, but a quarter of the way into it, Sansa began squirming. Jon assumed she was just finding a new position—something must’ve fallen asleep—and Jon wished he could adjust. He wanted to stretch out, get his leg out from under him. He wanted to hold Sansa instead of having her just leaning against him.

Sansa found a new position, but huffed and started moving again only minutes later. Jon wondered if he was supposed to be picking up on some hint. If she’d really meant _watch a movie_ and this was her way of telling him.

“I’m sorry, can we pause it for a second?” she asked, moving away from him. Jon quickly paused the movie and moved the laptop to the floor. “I just can’t seem to get comfortable,” she explained, standing and turning to face the sofa, hands on her hips. Her eyes flitted to his for only briefly, and a blush colored her face. He would’ve given anything in that moment to know what she was thinking, but he didn’t need to. “Do… do you think the bed would be any more comfortable?” Now Jon was blushing too. He did think the bed would be much more comfortable than trying to find a good position on the sofa, but he hadn’t expected Sansa to have suggested it.

“Probably,” he answered honestly, hoping she didn’t take it in a suggestive way.

“We should try it,” she said, but then her eyes landed on his again. “If you want to, I mean.” He found himself nodding. She scooped up the laptop and headed for his room, and he followed a second later.

When he stepped into his room behind Sansa, he saw it through her eyes. An unmade bed wedged into the corner, with pillows turned the long way. A desk covered in books, notebooks, and random bits of paper, a clean rectangle from where his laptop normally sat. A closet, and a dresser made out of milk crates. The drawing she’d given him taped to the wall above his desk. He thought it looked both messy and spartan. Sansa didn’t comment, but she did catch the fact that he’d taped up her drawing. He saw her look at it, look almost startled by it, before spinning full around to press a kiss briefly to his lips. _That_ startled him, but he loved it. He loved how often she kissed him, how easily she touched him. It was as if she knew how starved for it he was.

When she released him, she settled on his bed, moving toward the wall so he had room to crawl in next to her. He was still in jeans though, and doubted that would be comfortable.

“I’m just going to change into sweatpants,” he told her, hoping she wouldn’t be offended when he started taking his pants off. He thought about stepping out to change his pants, but Sansa had changed in front of him earlier—he could change in front of her. Plus, if they were dating, he would have to be comfortable being undressed in front of her. Sansa didn’t react, just smiled fondly as he climbed in next to her.

Sansa had propped up the pillows, and once he laid down, she set the laptop back on his stomach, except she then curled around him, as opposed to next to him as she’d been on the couch. Her head was on his chest, and she’d pulled his arm around her, linking their hands on her waist. Her other arm went around his waist, behind the laptop, and she somehow snaked one of his legs between both of hers.

This cuddling position was new to Jon and it briefly distracted him from the movie—more than being in a bed with Sansa did. All of the cuddling he’d done previously was him cuddling someone, usually spooning, and usually only after sex.

He’d never actually been on the receiving end of cuddling. He hated that this was the first time, and he wanted to rage against the world, the parents who decided he wasn’t worth anything, all the foster families who gave him back. He wanted to rage against Jeor for not adopting him, for not fighting for him harder, because if he had, Jon might’ve had a much different life. But then Sansa nuzzled closer to him, laughing at something that happened in the movie, and he could feel her stomach against his side as she did. All of his anger, bitterness, and resentment left him, the space instead filling with love for Sansa. He pulled her tighter against him and smiled when she squeezed him back. 

* * *

 

It was late when the movie ended, and Sansa couldn’t go more than a handful of minutes without yawning. Jon had gotten up to put the laptop away, but Sansa hadn’t pulled herself from the bed yet. She was pushed up on her elbow, legs still under the blankets. Jon thought she looked half asleep already. With a surprising amount of security and surprising lack of hesitation, Jon pulled one of his t-shirts from a milk crate and offered it to her. Sansa stared at it, looking confused.

“You’re too tired to walk home,” he said softly. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Sansa suddenly looked wide awake, though she was halfway through pulling her sweater off.

“Why not in here?” Sansa’s voice was muffled by the t-shirt and Jon found it too endearing.

“You want me to sleep in here with you?”

“Of course I do. Come ‘ere.” She threw back the sheets, indicating that he should join her. It was in that moment he realized that she’d not only switched her sweater for his t-shirt, but also removed her legging things, so her legs were bare.

“I don’t typically sleep in sweats,” he admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Jon, it’s fine. Come to bed.” Watching to see if she reacted at all, he slowly slid out of his sweatpants. When she didn’t react aside to raise an eyebrow, almost a challenging look taking over her face, as if daring him to, he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

In bed, Sansa curled back into the same position they were in for the movie, her head on his now bare chest, her bare legs wrapped around his bare leg, her fingers tracing beautiful patterns on his stomach.

He hadn’t been tired before, but the repetitive movement made him sleepy. Before he fell asleep, or maybe after, because it certainly was something from a dream, Sansa leaned up, brushing the hair from his face, and kissed him softly, tenderly.

“Sweet dreams, Jon,” she whispered when she pulled away.

“You too, Sansa,” he managed before her head settled again on his chest and he sunk into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

Jon woke up the way he did every morning: rolling over to the pile of pillows that somehow ended up next to him every night—the ones that sometimes felt like a body if he was half asleep. He pulled the pillows closer, impressed with his own imagination when he smelled Sansa’s shampoo. He only opened his eyes when he realized that he actually smelled her shampoo.

He expected to see that the pillows were actually Sansa as well, but his pillows were just pillows and his bed was empty. Jon took a deep breath of her shampoo, reminding himself that this was Sansa, and no matter that little voice inside him said, she wouldn’t just walk out without waking him—not without good reason at least. He pulled himself from the bed and saw her sweater and leggings on the floor, the same place they’d been last night.

 _She’s probably in the bathroom_ , he thought, but now that his nose was away from the pillow and her shampoo, he smelled breakfast.

In the kitchen, Sansa stood in his t-shirt, which wasn’t quite long enough to reach below her hips, a spatula in hand, cooking eggs. She turned when the door opened.

“Oh, damn. I’d hoped to get these done so I could surprise you with breakfast in bed.” He couldn’t help himself from going up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, Sansa. The thought is enough, though,” he told her, not saying the obvious fact that no one had ever thought to make him breakfast in bed. She flipped the eggs before turning around to kiss him full on the mouth, not caring that he still had morning breath.

“There’s coffee, and I was going to make toast.”

“I can do that.” He moved around her to put the bread in the toaster before pulling his only mug down. He was going to offer it to her and drink his from a glass, but she beat him to it.

“I don’t drink coffee.” She pointed to the glass she had next to her, full of orange juice. “How’d you sleep?” Sansa lifted the eggs from the pan, splitting them between the two plates.

“Better than I have in a long time,” he admitted truthfully. “How about you? Did you sleep all right?” Sansa caught his eye before answering.

“Yeah, I did. First time I’ve slept without mounds of blankets on me. You’re really warm.”

“Sorry,” he said automatically, raising his mug to his lips.

“No, no, don’t be. It was nice and cozy. I like how warm you are.” Under the table, her leg pushed against his. Jon thought she was warm too, incredibly so, but not just physically. There was a warmth that exuded from her and it had a habit of warming everyone around her. 

* * *

 

After they ate and Jon cleaned the dishes, he had to get ready for work. Sansa changed back into the clothes she’d worn yesterday and waited until he had to leave, so they could walk out together.

“How late do you work until again?” she asked, hand in his again, as he locked his apartment door.

“Three, today. I can text you after I shower? We can do something together?” Sansa agreed, and when they got to the street where they split ways, he took her face in his hands and kissed her, hoping it communicated just how much last night and this morning meant to him.

* * *

 

All week the lads at the shop had been taking the piss out of him for smiling at his phone during breaks and talking about Sansa every chance he had. He thought that was fair, after the number of hook up stories he endured, they could listen to him talking about him and Sansa hanging out for five minutes.

He didn’t care that they all sighed whenever he opened his mouth though, because he finally felt like he was apart of the group. Being teased about a girl was their form of initiation, and Jon never had had a girl to be teased about, and he never talked about the handful of hookups he had. There seemed to be an ease between all of them now—they had something light and easy to talk about that wasn’t cars for the first time in the two years he worked there.

“So how’s our lady Sansa?” Edd asked as soon as Jon walked in. He thought he might still be smiling from parting with her a few blocks back.

“She’s good. We walked part way here together. She was heading home,” Jon said without thinking.

“Oh? Did she spend the night?” Jon suddenly realized what he said and he rounded on Edd.

“Not in the way you’re suggesting,” he said carefully. Edd held up his hands, laughing.

“Take it easy, mate. Wasn’t suggesting anything.” Jon started to turn away, as a car pulled into the bay. “Just that you look happy,” Edd called, but Jon was already walking towards the car.

 _I am_ , he thought. _I am happy, not content, not satisfied, but actually happy._

He was unburdened for the first time in years. He _had_ something, someone. He may not have a family, or a name, but he had Sansa and she was just as good. In the week they’d actually been dating, he’d been kissed, touched, and held more than he had in his whole life as far as he could remember. She looked at him with a fondness that he’d never seen directed at himself before. Everything about her, everything she did around him was so warm and gentle, and he couldn’t fathom how he’d gone so far in his life without feeling any of it. Everything she did filled him with a warm fuzzy feeling he didn’t have a name for. He just knew that when he was around her he wasn’t lonely, he wasn’t unwanted, he wasn’t hollow, and he didn’t feel as though there was something wrong with him. For the first time, he felt like there was something wrong with everyone who didn’t want him—they were the ones who had something broken inside of them, not him. With Sansa, he felt appreciated, cared for, wanted. With Sansa, he felt whole.

* * *

 

It was near the end of his shift and Jon was watching the clock. Before he met Sansa he never watched the clock, except for when he was hungry for lunch. Now, though, he had something to look forward to when his shift was done. He wasn’t going back to an empty apartment and biding his time until either a class or his next shift.

“Hi. How can I help you?” he heard Edd say and Jon groaned. He really hoped someone wasn’t bringing in a new car ten minutes before his shift was over. He ducked to the other side of the bay, hoping Edd would think he was busy working on the truck with Grenn and wouldn’t ask him to take whatever just came in.

“What’re you doing?” Grenn asked, wheeling out from under the truck enough for Jon to hear him.

“Hiding. Someone just brought something in and my shift ends in ten minutes.”

“And you’re gonna meet Sansa after?” Jon grinned sheepishly at his predictability.

“Yeah.”

“Well, at least make it look like you’re actually helping. Hand me that.” Jon passed him the tool just as Edd rounded the end of the truck.

“Jon, someone’s here to see you.”

“I’m helping Grenn with this.” Jon picked up another tool and passed it to Grenn, as if to prove his point.

“They asked for you specifically.” Jon sighed, pushing himself up and heading for the front of the shop. He hoped whoever it was just wanted an oil change or something he could do in a few minutes. He couldn’t think of anyone he knew who would ask for him by name though. It wasn’t as if he was well known or had enough repeat costumers to build regulars. Actually, he was pretty sure no one had ever come into the shop and asked for any of them by name.

Jon pushed through to the front of the shop, surprised when he didn’t see a new car in the bay. He hoped it wasn’t a towing job. Those were almost never quick.

“Hi, can I help you?” he asked, eyes going straight to the monitor screen, hoping Edd had already started to plug in their information. When he heard a giggle, he felt butterflies. Jon’s head snapped up, and he saw Sansa waiting at the counter, grinning at him. Before he could ask what she was doing there, she leaned over and kissed him. He stopped himself from reaching forward to touch her with his grease-blackened hands, but he kissed her back all the same.

“What are you doing here?” he was finally able to ask once they broke apart. Sansa shrugged, the playful half smile taking over her face.

“I missed you,” she said easily. “Thought I’d wait while you finished your shift.” Jon leaned over the counter to kiss her again, because he couldn’t put into words what that meant to him. She missed him, after only a few hours of them being apart—missed him so much that she was willing to hang out in the lobby of the auto shop until his shift was done, because then they could spend an extra half hour together. It was an amazing feeling.

“I only have a few minutes left, then I’ll be out.” Sansa nodded, leaning forward again, but this time she didn’t kiss him—she pushed a stray curl out of his face. He was sure there was a line of grease already creating a path that her hand would follow. He tended to forget the amount of grease on his hands and would end up leaving streaks across his face.

“You look cute in your uniform, with your hair up like that,” she told him, leaving her hand on his face. He had been called cute before, lots of times, but it somehow always came across as condescending, he felt. When Sansa said it, he blushed.

“Thanks,” was the only thing he could think of to say.

“Jon, why don’t you finish up your shift at the counter? You’ve got just about five minutes,” Edd called, poking his head through the door between the bay and the lobby.

“Thanks, Edd.”

Five minutes later, Jon clocked out and ducked into the bathroom. He spent another five minutes trying to scrub the grease from his hands and forearms. The soap in the bathroom at the shop though was shit and it barely did anything. He’d have to wait until he was back at his to actually remove the grease.

When he came back out, Grenn, Edd, and Sam were all standing in the lobby with Sansa. She was laughing at something Edd was saying, but her smile changed as soon as she made eye contact with him. It was brighter, suddenly, wider.

Jon had intended to wrap his arms around her waist, the way she’d pulled his arms around her at dinner last night, until he remembered his hands and saw that she was wearing a white sweater. He quickly shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Jon, you never told us how beautiful she was,” Grenn joked as soon as Jon joined the circle, next to Sansa. He colored and opened his mouth to protest—he _had_ said she was beautiful, more than once, but Sansa spoke instead.

“They were just telling me about how they were all going out tonight. To a place called Flea’s Bottom? I’ve never heard of it.”

“You should come with us. Jon almost never comes out,” Sam offered, and Jon’s eyes shot over to him. He shook his head as much as he could without Sansa noticing, hoping Sam took the hint. Flea’s Bottom wasn’t the place for a person like Sansa, and he doubted she’d want to go out with the men from the shop. They were coarse and crude, and all of them had near permanently grease stained hands—with the exception of Sam. They were nothing like Sansa and her friends, or even Robb.

Sansa turned toward him, a question clear on her face.

“We should go. We had dinner with Margaery last night,” she pointed out. “Plus, I’d love to meet your friends.” He wanted to ask her _do you know what kind of place Flea’s Bottom is?_

“Yeah, maybe. Text us when you’re planning on getting there,” Jon said, thinking maybe once they were alone he could talk her out of it.

He liked the idea of her meeting his friends, but the idea of doing it at Flea’s Bottom worried him. They didn’t serve her fruity drinks or have a dance floor. It had a pool table and pub fights. It had cheap beer and unclean bathrooms. And when Edd, Grenn, and Pyp drank, they tended to tell dirty jokes, hook up tales, and hit on every woman they could. He knew Sansa wasn’t the type to judge, but he still thought she might find that—them—a little offensive.

He was still stuck on how to talk her out of it while they walked home. He was so focused on it that he hadn’t realized he’d taken his hands out of his pockets. Not until Sansa grabbed it.

“I’m still covered in grease,” he objected, trying to pull away. Sansa shrugged.

“Not any different than being covered in charcoal,” she said, and held his hand tighter.


	17. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 35 minutes past when I hoped it be up!
> 
> This chapter should make anyone feel better who's still not thrilled about the arm grab WITH NO ZOOM.

Sansa could not understand why Jon didn’t want to go out with his friends from the auto shop. He just kept saying he wanted to spend a quiet night in, but Sansa doubted that. That’s what they did last night. They usually spent their time quietly in his apartment, and as much as she loved it, she wanted to meet his friends. She wondered if it had something to do with Ygritte—if Flea’s Bottom was a place they used to go together. If that was the case she didn’t want to push it. He had revealed more about their relationship yesterday, about how lopsided it had been, and she didn’t want to force him into revealing more because she wouldn’t give up the issue.

While Jon was in the shower, Sansa texted Robb, wondering if he could give her some insight so Jon wouldn’t have to.

_Jon’s friends from his work invited us to Flea’s Bottom tonight, but he doesn’t wanna go? Was that a place he went with Ygritte?_

She was relieved that Robb apparently had his phone on him and texted back right away. Jon didn’t really take a long time in the shower.

**Don’t think so. He and I have gone there together.**

_Why do you think he doesn’t wanna go then?_

Robb sent a shrugging emoji and Sansa sent a gif of a Disney princess that she found when she typed in _exasperated_.

**Flea’s Bottom is kinda seedy.**

_What does that have to do with him not wanting to go?_

**Girls like you don’t go to Flea’s Bottom.**

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

**You don’t go to The Steel Paw in Winterfell. Flea’s Bottom is worse.**

_Oh. All right. Thanks._

**What’re big brothers for?**

Sansa sent an eye roll gif before shoving her phone back in her bag.

So it was because Flea’s Bottom wasn’t like The Crooked Mane. He was probably nervous about her judging the pub, or maybe the fact that his friends frequented that one and not one of the other many pubs and clubs. If that was the case, she could definitely try and persuade him to go out. She just had to prove that she wasn’t scared of a seedy little pub.

When Jon came out of the shower, Sansa was pleased to see that he was starting to get used to being vulnerable around her—at least physically so. He crossed the apartment in only his towel, and this time Sansa was brave enough to actually look at him.

He was gorgeous. She thought he should be carved in marble—he would fit right in with the Greek statues or Renaissance ones. She thought his beautiful body should be showcased for the next millennium. She wished she could do it herself, but she was useless with stone, or clay. She was much better with two-dimensional mediums. The best she could do was hope that maybe one day someone saw one of her sketches of him and decided he was as beautiful and worth as much as she thought he was.

Jon must’ve realized she’d been staring at him, because his chest flared pink. Sansa wanted to stop him from crossing to his room. She wanted to kiss and touch his body until he quit blushing every time she did. She wanted to hold and caress him until he understood how beautiful he was. She didn’t though, because she was woefully inexperienced and shy. Plus, Jon was so honorable—she remembered him blushing when he sat on her bed in Winterfell—that he might just push her away if the setting wasn’t right.

He came back out a few minutes later, in jeans and a t-shirt. Sansa thought that might be indicative of him actually wanting to go out—he typically wore sweatpants if they were going to laze around his apartment all afternoon.

“I think we should go out with your friends tonight,” she said decisively. Jon groaned, tipping his head against the sofa. Sansa pulled him down, setting his head in her lap.

“My hair’s still wet.”

“It’ll dry.” He looked up at her and Sansa started to slowly thread her fingers through his hair, starting at his hairline until his hair fell from her hand, and starting again at his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed and Sansa felt a rush of butterflies at the fact that she was the cause of it—that she made him feel so good he had to close his eyes.

“Why don’t you want to go out with your friends tonight?” she tried again. His eyes stayed closed but a crease formed between his eyebrows.

“Flea’s Bottom isn’t like Crooked Mane,” he said at last, with a tone that sounded as though he wanted to be done with the discussion.

“I know. I texted Robb.” Jon sat up quickly, moving far enough away that they were no longer touching at all. Something told her to give him his space—to not immediately try to reconnect their bodies in some way.

“What’d you text Robb about?” he asked, his voice slow and deep. With a pang, Sansa realized how guarded he suddenly was: voice low, arms crossed, body angled away from her. She regretted mentioning Robb. She should’ve just said she’d looked it up.

“I asked if he knew about Flea’s Bottom—if… if it was a place you’d gone with Ygritte, and that was why you didn’t want to go. ‘Cause if that was the case, I wasn’t going to push the matter.” Jon stared at her, something she could only consider disbelief in his eyes. “Here, look.” She pulled up the conversation she’d had with Robb and passed it to Jon.

“That’s all he said?” Jon asked, passing it back. Sansa frowned. _What else was Robb supposed to say?_

“Was he supposed to say something else…?” Jon looked nervous, fingers tracing the seam of his pants leg.

“He didn’t say anything about me taking you to a place like that?”

“What would he’ve said?” Jon shrugged, looking sullen.

“Something about else about a girl like you in a place like that?” Sansa opened her mouth when she caught on to what he was trying to say. _He thought Robb would be mad or something—about him taking her to Flea’s Bottom._

“He knows you’ll take good care of me,” she said, hoping he understood that she meant more than just tonight.

“That’s not the only reason,” he said after a long pause. Sansa watched him quietly, waiting for him to find the words for what he wanted to say. “My friends, the ones from the shop…they aren’t like Robb or your friends.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean,” she confessed.

“They… they didn’t really leave high school. They still make a lot of sex jokes and hit on everything that walks.” Sansa couldn’t help but laugh, her hand flying up to cover the smile, try to muffle the sound.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just… you described Margaery.” Jon’s head snapped up, confusion covering his face. “She’s tamed it down around you. We didn’t want to embarrass you…because a lot of the jokes were about you and me.” Jon ducked his head, hand coming around to scratch his beard, concealing part of his face.

“So… you wouldn’t be offended by those jokes?”

“No! Is that what you thought?” Jon turned his head away, looking chastened.

“It’s just… you don’t seem like the type. Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she laughed, pulling him until his head was in her lap again. She resumed the movement she’d been doing before. “So we’re going tonight then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to.”

“Good.” She leaned down to kiss him—a kiss that was long and slow and made her want to never stop. Jon pulled away first. She could see that his normally grey eyes were darker only briefly before they drifted shut again. He pushed his face towards her stomach, moving closer to her. She thought he looked ready to fall asleep, but she didn’t mind, and kept up the motion anyway.

* * *

 

Several hours later, Jon lead Sansa into the pub on a side of the city she’d never been before. The whole way there Jon kept asking if she was sure, and she kept telling him that she was, even if she wasn’t. Robb was right. She didn’t go to The Steel Paw in Winterfell because she didn’t think they were very clean. The one time she’d been, there was no soap in the bathroom and half the glasses she saw were either chipped or permanently stained with something. She hardly thought it was a hygienic place to be. She could push past all of that for Jon though.

“Hey! You guys made it!” Edd greeted them, standing. They’d gotten one of the round corner booths and all the men stood, coming around to shake Jon’s hand.

“We’re going to order,” Jon said, steering her towards the bar. She noticed the lack of wait staff in that instant—the only person working was the huge redheaded man behind the bar. “Do you know what you want?” Sansa looked around at the other drinks people had, but it seemed as though nearly everyone was drinking beer. She shook her head, doubting they had lemon vodka.

“What can I get ya?”

“Whatever you have on tap and…” Jon trailed off, looking helplessly at Sansa.

“What’d you recommend to someone who doesn’t like beer?” Sansa asked, putting her elbows on the bar. The redheaded man sized her up and she felt Jon shift closer towards her.

“I’ve got just the thing.” He passed Jon his beer first, then began mixing something that neither she nor Jon could see. He presented her with a sunset colored drink. “Try it—let me know if it’s good.” Obliging, she took a small sip, wary for unknown drinks since the incident with the Tears. She was surprised that it was actually very good, and she told the man such. He laughed. “It’s not very strong at the start, but they can sneak up on ya.”

“Thanks.”

Jon paid for the drinks before she could offer and she decided she’d have to insist on getting the next round. That would be fair without injuring Jon’s pride.

Sansa wasn’t sure what Jon had been so worried about. Yes, her shoes stuck to the floor a bit, and yes, the place was dingy and a little grimy, but she loved his friends. More importantly, she loved who he was with his friends. He wasn’t as quiet with them. He was still far quieter than the rest of the men were, but he wasn’t as quiet as she’d seen him with her friends. He joked with them, which she hadn’t really seen before. Sansa was mildly surprised that under all of his hesitancy and shyness was a quick wit and sarcasm. The men told stories of Jon, about how he’d occasionally deal with rude costumers; the comments he’d make that they never really realized were insults. It was as though she was finally getting a peek beneath all of his armor and all of his fear, at the man he could’ve so easily been in a different life. 

* * *

 

“How’d you two meet again?” Edd asked. They were on their second round—Jon had begrudgingly let her pay. Sansa glanced at Jon after Edd’s question, wondering what he’d told them. _I met her over winter break_ or _she’s my best friend’s little sister._

“She’s Robb’s sister, remember?” Sam reminded and Sansa got her answer.

“Right, I knew that. But how’d you meet?”

“Erm…I spent winter break with her family,” Jon shrugged.

“I kissed him on New Year’s,” Sansa added because she thought it was relevant.

“You kissed on New Year’s and have only just got together? What the hell, Jon? You’re lucky she didn’t find someone better in the time it took you to come to your senses.” There had been space between Sansa and Jon until this moment. She moved closer to him, their legs touching under the table, and her arms looping around one of his.

“It took both of us to come to our senses, not just Jon. Plus, there’s no one better than Jon.” Sansa held eye contact with Edd the whole time. She knew he was probably joking, knew he probably didn’t know that the comment could wound Jon, but she felt the need to say it anyway. She felt Jon lean into her, connecting their bodies more fully.

“Anyone up for a game of pool?” Sam asked, probably trying to break the slight tension.

“I’ll play,” Jon agreed.

“I’ll get loser,” Grenn said.

Sansa perched on a tall stool while Sam and Jon played, sipping her drink. She couldn’t really follow the game, nor did she really care, but watching Jon play was a sight. She’d never fully appreciated his back before, until she saw how the black material stretched across as he leaned over the table to shoot.

Unable to help herself, Sansa pulled her sketchbook from her bag and started drawing a Jon she hadn’t captured yet. He didn’t have his hair tied up anymore, so it hung in his eyes while he eyed up the cue ball, and every time the balls did something he wanted them to his lips curled up in a little smirk. She drew the muscle lines in his forearm as he leaned onto the table, the way his fingers curved over the pool cue. She drew the little strip of his hip that came exposed every time he took a shot.

“I’m sorry if this is boring you,” Jon said, startling her. She’d been so focused on her drawing that she hadn’t noticed the game ended.

“Not at all,” she corrected, showing him the newly covered page. He smiled and pulled her forward for a kiss. Sansa thought it might have been the first time since that afternoon that he actually was the one to kiss her.

“Want me to teach you how to play?” he asked, leaning on the cue, his voice sounding a different than she’d ever heard it. She thought it sounded flirty.

“Sure.” Sansa jumped down from the stool, but before she joined Jon at the table, she pulled her white sweater from her shoulders, revealing her strappy black tank top. With the mixture of alcohol, the warmth of the bar, and Jon’s body heat, she was too warm with the sweater on. Plus, with her black tank top and jeans, her hair done in a simple braid, she thought she looked like she fit in a little more.

Sansa finished her drink in a swallow and joined Jon at the pool table, where he had all the balls in a triangle on the table.

Jon’s eyes traced over her when she came up next to him and she thought she saw his eyes darken a little, the way they had that afternoon.

“All right, so what do I do?” Jon’s eyes jerked away from her and Sansa swallowed a giggle.

“Erm, right. So, I’ll break it, then I’ll show you.” Sansa nodded, and Jon leaned over the table again, exposing that strip of skin. Sansa wanted to stoke it, but settled with resting her hand on his back. At her touch, he turned his head back and smiled at her. Jon pulled back the cue and hit the white ball, sending it into the triangle and scattering the balls. “All right, come here.”

Sansa moved where he pointed and allowed him to adjust her limbs similarly to how she did when she posed him for that sketch she did last weekend. He fitted the cue in one hand, and placed her fingers over the thin end. The end was pointed at the white ball, and there was a colored ball directly lined up behind it.

“All right, so what you want to do is pull the cue back and then push it forward to hit the ball,” he told her, pulling back. Sansa tried to do what he said, but the end of the cue bounced off the fabric of the table. “Here, like this.” His arms were around her then, his hands covering his, and he moved her arms in the way she had tried to, except this time she actually hit the ball and it sent the colored ball into a pocket.

“I did it!” Sansa giggled, doing a little dance in her excitement.

Jon and Sansa sunk the rest of the balls that way, Jon teaching her different shots and what they were called. Sansa never thought learning how to play pool would be romantic.

Once the table was cleared, Grenn and Edd wanted to play Jon, two-on-one, because apparently he was that good at pool. Sansa retreated back to her stool, where the bartender—Tormund, she’d learned his name was—refilled her drink. Sam took the stool next to her. He was apparently shit at pool.

“Can I ask what you’re working on?” Sam asked, turning so he was angled more towards her than he was the pool table.

“Oh, erm, yeah. It’s Jon, from when he was playing you.” She showed him the page that she’d been adding detail to.

“You see him differently, don’t you?” Sam’s voice was quiet and Sansa almost had to strain to hear him.

“What’d you mean?” She hoped this wasn’t going in the same direction as Edd’s comment earlier.

“I just mean to say that you see the good in him—the parts he tries to hide. He has a tough shell but he’s actually a big softie under everything. I think you can see past that shell because he never has it up for you.” Sansa turned from Sam’s smiling face to Jon, where he was laughing at something, leaning against the cue again. When he noticed her looking, his smile softened. “See, that’s a Jon we’ve never seen before, until he met you.”

* * *

 

“Are you sure you want to stay over again tonight?” Jon asked, even as she changed into the t-shirt of his that she’d worn last night.

“I’m tipsy and you’re buzzed. I think this is the best, don’t you? Plus, I like sleeping with you.” Sansa slapped her hand over her mouth as soon as she realized the innuendo. Laughter escaped from around her fingers anyway, and Jon’s face turned bright pink. “You know what I mean,” she giggled, crawling into the bed. Jon followed her in slowly, still a little flushed.

Sansa rolled towards him, sliding her legs between his and moving forward until their noses almost touched.

“I had fun tonight. I like your friends.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Sansa pushed her head a little farther forward, bumping her nose against Jon’s. He smiled, screwing up his face when she did. She thought the look was so cute she had to do it again, except this time, after bumping their noses, she angled her head to kiss him.

The kiss was long and slow, like the one they shared earlier that afternoon. Sansa got a little caught up in the moment, moving closer to him, threading a hand through his hair. Jon must’ve too, because his arm went around her pulling her closer even though there was almost no space left between them. It was when she felt something twitch against her leg that Jon pulled back.

“Sorry,” he muttered, detangling his legs from hers. Sansa gazed at his face, the darkness of his eyes contrasting with the sudden shyness of his features. Sansa reached out, her hand landing on his side. She ran her fingers from under his shoulder to his hip, where his boxers were, and back. His eyes flickered closed.

Sansa kept up the movement but raised herself up onto an elbow, bringing her face closer to his chest. While his eyes were still closed, Sansa pressed her lips lightly to the area of skin below his collarbone. When he didn’t immediately stop her, she continued to kiss across his chest and down, first kissing above his heart, but then dipping towards his stomach. When she pressed her mouth against one of his abs, his breathing hitched, suddenly labored.

“Sansa…” It sounded as though he meant to say it as a warning, but it came out as closer to a groan. She sat up, crossing her legs next to him, but didn’t removed her had. She traced lazy patterns across his stomach as he rolled flat onto his back. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

“What if I want to?” Jon’s eyes studied her face, probably looking for some kind of tell, but she was honest. She’d loved the feel of him against her while they were shooting pool, loved the feel of his body under her fingers. She wanted to do something—gain some experience beyond kissing. “I’ve never done anything though, so we’re going to have to go slow,” she confessed, focusing more on the patterns of her fingers than her face.

“We can do slow. As slow as you want. You’re in control, Sansa.” His voice was low, deep, but not in the way it got when he was guarded. This was something else and Sansa felt her body warming. She leaned down to kiss him and Jon pulled her against him, chests flushed.

Sansa had started the kiss softly, but she was quickly parting her lips, pleased when Jon did the same, when her tongue tentatively touched his. His mouth tasted the same way hers did, as they had just used the same toothpaste, and that gave her a little confidence.

With a fluid motion, Sansa flung her leg over Jon’s hips, lining her pelvis up with his. Jon’s eyes flew to hers, but when she moved a little bit, his eyes closed again.

Sansa caught his mouth again, and Jon’s hands started roaming her back. She could feel his warmth through the shirt—the warmth of his hands on her back and the warmth of his chest pressed against hers, the warmth of him against her.

When she felt Jon’s hands come around to her ribs, she broke away just long enough to nod, to tell him _this isn’t to fast, I want to feel more of you on me._ His hands came all the way around then, more warmth radiating through. His thumbs moved in sweeping motions and Sansa suddenly gasped into his mouth, her hips grinding harder against his. Jon moaned, repeating the motion.

With every swipe of his thumbs, Sansa moved her hips faster against him, not allowing herself to be embarrassed or second-guess what she was doing.

Sansa could feel that tightening, but instead of building, it was plateauing. She needed more.

Breaking her mouth away from Jon’s, she raised herself on one elbow, not disrupting her rhythm. With her other hand, she lead Jon’s hand under her shirt, until he was cupping her breast.

“ _Ooh_ , Jon,” she moaned when his rough thumb ran over her nipple. He did it again, and Sansa felt it between her legs.

Jon timed his rolling of his fingers with the thrust of her pelvis. It wasn’t long until Sansa’s rolling turned into more of a lurching and she felt that tightness release with a final gasp.

She collapsed onto Jon, both of them breathing heavily.

Once she was able to, Sansa started kissing his chest again, this time the kisses were far less chaste though. She ran her hands down his sides, past his waistband, over the tops of his thighs.

“Sansa, you don’t…” Jon started, voice strained. She paused, pushing herself up.

“What were you just telling me about lopsidedness and resentment?”

“That wasn’t at all what I meant!”

“I know, but it’s still important, so please. Let me do this.” Jon was quiet for a minute, but then nodded.

Sansa started kissing his chest again, trying to cover every inch of skin she could. The other times she’d done it, Jon must’ve been restraining himself, because this time his breath came out haggard as soon as her mouth made contact with his skin.

When she moved lower, closer to his boxers, she heard her name leave his mouth in a sigh that quickly turned to a moan when her hand pressed against his hardness through his boxers.

For a second, Sansa didn’t move her hand, just continued kissing, trying to remember every detail and instruction she’d heard from her roommates. None of it seemed helpful in the moment, so she went on instinct.

She rubbed her hand upward once, and Jon’s hips jerked to follow it. Glad she’d gotten it right, Sansa did it again and again until his hands were clutching the sheets under him and his head was tipped back.

“Sansa, I can do it…” His hand covered hers, stilling her movement.

“Jon, I want to.”

“It’s just… I need, em, _more_.” Sansa understood suddenly, and took her hand away, watching to see what he did. He pulled himself between the flap in front and wrapped his hand around his length. His pace was much after than hers had been, and once she thought she knew what she was doing, her hand was joining his.

“Sansa, no, it’s all right…”

“I want to,” she repeated. He let go slowly, allowing her hand to replace his. She was surprised at how warm and firm it was, but didn’t comment. She tried to mimic the motion she’d watched him do, and was shocked at the difference in his reaction. His feet were planted against the bed and his other tightly held onto her free hand.

When his hips started to lift off the bed, Sansa allowed him to take back over and even though it wasn’t her hand that brought it about, he still moaned her name when he came.

“I’ll go get cleaned up,” he murmured after he’d caught his breath again. Sansa was going to offer to do it for him, but he swung out of bed too quickly.

Sansa curled around him again, once he slid back in.

“Was that… it wasn’t…” Jon started and stopped. Sansa lifted her head so that she could look at him.

“It was perfect, Jon.” His lips quirked up tiredly and Sansa pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Good night Jon. Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Sansa.” He held her tighter for a moment, and Sansa thought she heard an intake of breath, as if he was going to say something else, but he didn’t. She breathed in deeply through her nose, smelling Jon’s body wash and whatever it was that made him smell like Jon before closing her own eyes and falling asleep in Jon’s arms again.


	18. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooo I got another chapter done. (because this is the only productive thing I did today)

Waking up with Sansa was something Jon could get far too attached to, especially waking up in her arms. They must’ve rolled at some point in the night, because she was no longer on his chest. He was lying on his side and Sansa was pressed against him. From her chest to her ankles there was no space between them. Her arm was around his waist, head tucked against his shoulder. He realized sleepily that they were spooning, that he was the little spoon. He smiled into his pillow before closing his eyes again, relishing in the feelings of warmth and security. The feeling of being home.

After breakfast, Sansa left as they both had homework they needed to work on. He didn’t feel her absence when she left, maybe because the sheets were still rumpled from them sleeping in his bed or maybe because if he did start to feel lonely he could text her without worrying about crossing a line or worrying about her not texting back. He could miss her without feeling guilty, without worrying about Robb’s reaction.

* * *

 

Jon’s day wasn’t as productive as he would’ve liked it to have been. Sansa distracted him, even though she wasn’t even there. Every time he tried to focus, something, a sound, a smell, a word in his textbook, would remind him of something from last night. The smell of her hair, the sound of her laugh, the sparkle in her eye, the softness of her skin, they were all distracting him from his studies. He daren’t think or remember past leaving Flea’s Bottom, at least not actively, because being turned on really wouldn’t help his attention span.

He had to take a break to clear his head. He had to do something that was completely unrelated to Sansa so that he could focus. He thought he could go for a run, as long as he didn’t run towards campus. The last thing he needed was to run past Sansa’s house when he was trying to get her off his mind.

Jon ran towards the auto shop, in the opposite direction of campus. He blasted music to drown out his thoughts of Sansa, focusing on timing his steps with the beat of his music. Between that and controlling his breathing, Jon was finally able to think of something other than Sansa.

Jon was sweating and out of breath when he got back, but he didn’t head straight for his shower. He thought that would only bring back thoughts of Sansa, of last night, and he really needed to finish his readings before he allowed himself that.

So sweaty, tired, and full of sore muscles, Jon forced his way through the last of his homework, finishing it in half the time it had taken him to struggle through everything else he’d barely accomplished.

That was something he’d forgotten about being in a relationship. He’d forgotten how consuming they could be, how every little thing could remind him of Sansa. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Maybe Ygritte hadn’t consumed his thoughts the same way Sansa did. He remembered thinking about Ygritte a lot when they weren’t together, but not the way he thought of Sansa. His heart started racing and he got butterflies just thinking of her, of the smile she’d given him, of the way she shed her white sweater and how she looked in the black tank top. She’d almost looked like she belonged in Flea’s Bottom then, belonged with someone like him.

While he was dating Ygritte, thoughts of her didn’t send his heart racing or give him butterflies, at least not after the first few months. More often than not, he was anxious when he thought of her—wondering if she loved him the way he loved her, if he made her happy, especially later in their relationship. Their honeymoon period was short lived and wasn’t nearly as warm or sweet as this first week with Sansa has been.

* * *

 

Jon was just brushing his teeth when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Sansa. She hadn’t sent him anything since the one she sent saying that she’d made it home all right, and for that Jon was grateful. He never would’ve gotten his homework done if she’d been texting him.

 _My bed’s too big and too cold with only one person in it_.

Heat pooled in Jon’s stomach, memories of last night dancing in his mind.

He hadn’t intended for any of that to happen. He knew Sansa had never done anything and the last thing he wanted to do was pressure her or make her think that she had to do anything to please him. But Seven hells, he couldn’t deny how good it felt to have her against him, her hand around him. It’d been so long since a hand that wasn’t his touched his cock. His hookups usually resulted in sex, or bringing pleasure to whatever girl he was with. Half the time his hookups weren’t because he was horny—it was usually because he was too damn lonely and he couldn’t bear being alone for another night. So he’d find a girl, take her home, not for his own pleasure but so that he woke up next to someone. Even with Ygritte, the focus was never really on his pleasure. It had always been on hers, because he thought if he did she might stay, she might love him as he loved her.

What happened with Sansa last night was different. Sansa kissed him and touched him in ways that got him harder than he’d ever been, all without actually touching him below his hips. Everything she did had a heat to it, but it was all so gentle. Jon honestly wasn’t sure which part of it all had turned him on more: the soft way she’d touched him, or the fact she’d touched him without seeking her own pleasure.

**I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep without you next to me now.**

Jon wasn’t really sure where that came from, but it was the truth. That was what he’d honestly missed most about him and Ygritte: not sleeping alone. He had a habit now, of bunching the pillows in his sleep until the shape of them resembled a body next to him. That was how desperately he hated sleeping alone. Even in his sleep, he tried to make himself feel not so alone.

After falling asleep with Sansa wrapped around him two nights in a row, the idea of going to bed alone should’ve been depressing, but he knew at some point, maybe next weekend, she could maybe spend the night again. He wouldn’t be going for months at a time with only his pillows for company.

_Then don’t._

Jon stared at his phone, confused, not allowing himself to interpret her text the way he wanted to. It was too much to hope for, after everything that had already happened over the weekend.

_Come over._

_My first class isn’t until noon and you don’t work on Mondays._

It wasn’t so much her invitation that made him smile as the fact that she knew his work schedule.

**Are you sure?**

_It’s lonely without you here._

_Come keep me warm, Jon._

Jon sighed, not a resigned sigh, but a relieved one, leaning back against the bathroom wall. He couldn’t admit how glad he was, how he loved the fact that she was asking for him to come over, how she missed him, and wanted him next to her. Jon was smiling as he typed back his response.

**I’ll be over in a few minutes.**

* * *

 

The walk to her house suddenly seemed far longer than it ever had before, or maybe it was just because he was eager to get there.

When he rounded the corner to her house, he saw a light on the second floor on. He thought it might be Sansa’s room, if he was remembering the floor plan correctly. Even from down on the street, outside the house, he thought the room looked warm and welcoming. It looked like a beacon, a lighthouse, calling him home.

Sansa opened the door as soon as he came up the walk, greeting him in only underwear and a tank top that could’ve been the one she wore last night. She leaned against the doorframe, and Jon thought her legs looked ten times longer with her standing like that. He loved her long legs, loved that they made her taller than him, loved that, because of that, she could cuddle him against her, hold him as though he was small. Except he didn’t feel small when she did it; he felt safe.

“I missed you,” Sansa said, kissing him before his boots or jacket were off.

“I missed you too.”

She led him upstairs, into the room he’d seen from outside. He was still hesitant about being in her room, but not near as hesitant as he’d been about being in her room in Winterfell. That one had so obviously been a girl’s room, had so obviously belonged to Robb’s little sister, but this one was Sansa’s. This one belonged to an adult, a woman, the Sansa he knew.

She folded herself onto the bed, watching as he stripped down to his boxers before he joined her. The lighting of her room was different than his. The only light that came into his bedroom at night was the moon and the security light of the parking lot that his curtains were too thin to block out. Sansa’s curtains blocked the orange streetlight from outside, but she had a small light plugged into the wall, washing the room in something resembling a flickering firelight. It might’ve been artificial, but Jon still thought it warmed the room.

“Much better,” she murmured, wrapping those long legs around his. “The bed’s already warmer.” He smiled, kissing her hair.

She propped herself up, freeing one of her hands to drag her fingertips around his bare chest and stomach. His muscles tensed under her touch and she must’ve felt it because she smiled. It wasn’t a power hungry smile, not one getting enjoyment from his reaction. He could see in her eyes that she wasn’t touching him to show her power over him, but touching him because she wanted to, because it brought him pleasure.

“Sorry, does that turn you on?” she asked, stilling her hand.

“It’s all right,” he answered gruffly, only slightly embarrassed that he’d been turned on by it, that she’d noticed.

“I just… That isn’t why I asked you to come over, you know that right?” He looked at her, brows arching. _Wasn’t that what you meant?_ Every other time he’d heard _come keep me warm,_ that’s what it’d meant. “I didn’t mean for this to be a booty call, I mean. I wanted to cuddle.” Warmth flooded Jon’s chest. “I want to touch you though… Is that all right?”

“It doesn’t have to go anywhere, Sansa.”

“Are you sure?” He nodded slowly, mildly curious as to what she meant, especially when she straddled his hips as she’d done last night and started running her hands over his torso. He wasn’t sure what she was doing that wasn’t going to lead anywhere, but he trusted Sansa.

She kissed him from his hairline to his hips, stroking soft fingers over his arms and shoulders. Jon closed his eyes and just let her, ignoring the slight throbbing in his boxers. This wasn’t about that. Jon wasn’t really sure what this was, but he loved it. Loved how she was so gentle and tender with him, how confident she was, how focused on him she was. The whole time, not a single touch was for her own pleasure.

Jon wasn’t sure for how long she touched him, but it felt like an eternity and an instant at the same time.

Satisfied, she kissed him soft and slow, curling back up next to him. Jon thought he might have melted into the mattress. He felt boneless, but not the same boneless-ness that came after an orgasm. This was different. This was had a weightlessness to it. He imaged that how he felt was similar to a post-massage feeling. He was relaxed and everything had slackened. Even his mind was relaxed and clear.

“Are you all right?” she whispered after a few moments of quiet. Her fingers had moved to his hair, but he hadn’t moved at all, even his eyes were still shut.

“Mhmm.”

“Did I put you to sleep?” Sansa giggled a little this time.

“Uh huh.”

“All right.” This also came out with a soft giggle. “Roll over a little?” It took Jon a second to remember how to move, rolling so his back was to her. She slid her body next to his, fitting them together as closely as possible, until they were in a similar position to how they’d been when he’d woken up that morning. She wrapped one arm around his waist, her hand coming to rest above his heart, and he other continued to play with his hair.

“Is this all right?” Her voice was quiet, breath tickling his shoulder, making his hair ruffle a little.

“It’s perfect,” he managed. Sansa kissed his bare shoulder. _You’re perfect_ , he wanted to say but he fell asleep before he could.

* * *

 

Jon woke up to the feeling of something being traced on his back. He lay still, not wanting it to stop. Sansa was drawing light patterns across his back—spirals and hearts. He squinted one eye open and saw the look on Sansa’s face as she continued her tracings. It was that look of fondness she’d had when looking at him before, but different. This one was softer.

“Mornin’,” he grunted, voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning. I’ve got to shower quick, but you can stay asleep, all right?” She leaned down to push his hair out of his face before kissing his cheek quickly. She pulled the sheets back up to his shoulders. He felt the bed shift, heard her feet walking around the room, the door open and shut.

He rolled over, to the side Sansa had slept on. He could smell her shampoo still, and feel the warmth she’d left behind. Jon fell back asleep quickly.

When he woke up again, Sansa had a towel on and was brushing her hair. She must’ve seen that he was awake in the mirror because she smiled. It was in that moment that Jon realized he never actually told her that she was beautiful. He’d thought it more times than he could count, but he’d never actually said it to her.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, pushing himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Sansa turned, a look of surprise crossing her face. For a second, Jon thought it looked as though she’d never been told that before, which he thought was ridiculous. A woman as beautiful as her should be told so every day, in his opinion.

“Thanks.” She said it so softly that it took Jon a moment to realize that she’d said anything at all.

He stayed in bed while she finished her morning routine, watching as she picked out clothes, dressed, and did her makeup. Only once she looked ready for the day did Jon drag himself from her bed and pull on his clothes from last night. He couldn’t find his hoodie though, the one he’d worn over. He knew he probably wouldn’t need it—it was much warmer when the sun was out than it was at night—but he didn’t want one of Sansa’s roommates finding it and using it to embarrass her.

“Sansa, have you seen my hoodie?” he asked, lifting the thing that covered the gap between the bedframe and the floor.

“Erm. Yes?” The embarrassed laughter in her voice made him look up. He’d watched her pull on jeans and a white tank top, but he hadn’t seen her take up his hoodie from the floor and put it on. “Can I wear it?”

Jon paused, staring at her in it. It was his auto shop hoodie, the one that said Night’s Watch on the breast but _SNOW_ in big letters across the back. He hated that it broadcasted who he was so obviously, but there was something about Sansa wearing his hoodie, his name. It was like she was telling the world she was his, and she didn’t give a damn who knew about it.

“Yeah, yeah, a’course.”

“Thanks.” She pulled it closer around herself, zipping it up a little higher. She may have been taller than he was, but he was broader and his arms a little longer, so the hoodie was still big on her. He really liked the sight of her in it.

* * *

 

“How was Flea’s Bottom?” Robb greeted Jon when he showed up for class the next evening.

“Good. Taught Sansa how to play pool,” he admitted, surprised both at himself and at Robb for asking. He knew Robb had given them his blessing, but saying he didn’t mind if they dated and actually acknowledging it, asking about it, were two very different things.

“Really? I’m impressed. Theon and I tried to teach her in high school but she never wanted to learn.” Jon didn’t say anything to that. He really wasn’t sure what to say, but he had the thought that maybe it hadn’t been so much that she wanted to learn pool the other night, but that she wanted Jon to teach her. The thought made him happy.

“You two are good then?” Robb asked, and Jon turned, confused. “After Friday I mean. I know my being there wasn’t exactly what either of you expected.”

“Yeah, no, we’re great, actually. We ended up spending almost the whole weekend together.” Robb smiled before Jon could second-guess what he’d just said to his girlfriend’s older brother.

“Good. That’s good. In that case, though, I feel I should give you a bit of a heads up.” Adrenaline started to pump through Jon’s veins before he could take a deep breath and actually listen to what Robb was going to say. “Sansa’s birthday is coming up. I doubt she’s going to tell you, knowing her. She wouldn’t want you feeling obligated to get her something. It’s the first Saturday of spring break, just in case you do want to get her something.”

Jon was relieved that was all Robb had to say, but he found the prospect of getting a birthday present for Sansa terrifying. She had given him the most perfect Christmas present, but he wasn’t anywhere near as creative or as talented as she was.

“Can you give me some hints on what to get her or where to take her?” Jon asked, running a hand through his loose hair.

“Uh huh, Sansa tried the same thing with me over Christmas. You two are on your own. She figured something out, so can you.”

“You didn’t help her with the map?” He was sure that Robb had at least steered her in the right direction. Told her that he enjoyed learning about Robert’s Rebellion and that whole time period. Or maybe even just that he liked history, or that he was in the same program as Robb was. He was _sure_ that she’d gotten some help from Robb. Robb was shaking his head though, disputing it.

“She asked for help but I told her to figure it out herself. Same as I’m telling you. You’re smart. You’ll think of something. Plus, she’ll love whatever you end up giving her because it’s from you.” Jon nodded dully, still stuck on the idea that Sansa had come up with the idea for the map all on her own.

* * *

 

He was still thinking about it when he lay in bed that night. He never thought Sansa paid that much attention to him when they were at Winterfell, at least not until New Year’s. He had been convinced that Robb had given her an idea, or a seed of an idea. For her to come up with the idea of the map on her own, though, she must’ve been. She must’ve been listening closely, must’ve followed him around the bookshop to have noticed him staring at the real version.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was pulling up her number on his phone. They’d said goodnight a while ago, but he hadn’t told her about any of what Robb had said.

 **Robb said the map was all you**.

He knew she was probably already asleep, but he wanted to tell her how much that meant to him. The map had already meant nearly everything to him, but knowing that she’d done it all on her own, without Robb helping her, made the map worth so much more.

_Erm, yeah?_

**I meant that Robb didn’t give you any hints on what to get me.**

_Oh. No. He was wildly unhelpful._

_Wait. You didn’t know?_

**No. I’d assumed that you went to Robb and he told you something to point you in the right direction.**

_Robb all out refused to be any help whatsoever. I had to stalk you around Winterfell that day to get the idea._

**Oh. I didn’t know.**

_It’s all right._

**Thank you, for it.**

Jon paused, wanting to add more. It was easier to do over text, even though he knew Sansa would never pity him. She probably already knew what he was going to say, but he had to say it anyway. He had to tell her just how much the map meant to him, and how much it meant that she figured out without any help, that it was something he wanted.

**It’s the most personal present I’ve ever gotten. You figured me out on your own after only a few weeks.**

_All I did was pay attention, Jon. I didn’t do anything special._

He knew she was right, but it _was_ something special to him. The two years he was with Ygritte, she’d gotten him a blanket, which was nice and practical, and vouchers to the movies the next, which they’d used on a date for a movie she picked. He’d been thrilled with them at the time, but that was before he knew what receiving at personal gift felt like. After two years, Ygritte couldn’t manage that.

**It’s special to me.**

You’re special to me, was what he wanted to send, but it seemed like a bit much after only a week.

_I’ll always pay attention to you, Jon._

He felt butterflies swarm his stomach, and he didn't bother to fight the stupid grin that took over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I just really love Sansa touching Jon in a nonsexual way.
> 
> There will be more smut, I promise. Sansa just needs to have a talk or two with Margeary first.


	19. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I probably could've posted this an hour ago if I hadn't spent 30 minutes on Victoria's Secret's website yesterday looking at lingerie for this chapter

Sansa closed the lid of her laptop as soon as she heard someone on the stairs. The last thing she wanted was for one of them to walk in while she had _Cosmo’s_ “5 Blow Job Sex Positions That Do It For You Too” up on her screen, including the helpful cartoon pictures. She was planning on talking to Margaery about it at some point, asking for advice and tips, but she couldn’t be sure it was Margaery that just came in, and while she could probably handle Dany seeing her reading _Cosmo_ , she wasn’t sure if she would survive Drogo accidently seeing that.

She and Jon spent the past week and a half slowly exploring each other’s bodies, but they hadn’t gotten fully naked in front of each other yet, though they had gone under the underwear the other night—for her at least. Which was why she was reading that _Cosmo_ article. Jon was introducing new ways to bring her to her climax, but he hadn’t suggested anything new for her to try. She was still giving him hand jobs, but he never let her bring him to his end—he always finished herself. Sansa hardly found it fair, but she didn’t know what else she could do. She didn’t know how to make him feel as good as he made her feel, so she was trying to learn.

“You’re not at Jon’s?” Margaery asked, peeking her head around. Sansa was relieved that it was her and not Drogo she’d heard.

“No, he’s in class until nearly nine tonight,” Sansa answered, sounding relatively calm.

“Seven hells, why is your face so red?” Apparently her face was still red though.

“Shut the door.”

“What, are you watching porn?” Sansa slowly opened her laptop again and spun it towards Margaery. She watched as Margaery had to fight her facial muscles into something that was neither a grin nor a smirk. “I’ll save you the read. The first one is really the only good one. The rest usually end up being awkward.”

“Thanks,” Sansa muttered sarcastically, closing the article. It really hadn’t been helpful anyway. She’d been looking for tips on _his_ pleasure, not her own.

“Sansa… is… Is Jon not…?” Margaery started slowly, motioning to the now closed article. Sansa stared at her for half a second before realizing what she was talking about.

“Oh, no! No, Jon’s wonderful. He’s perfect. I… I was actually looking for general tips. On how to give a blow job,” Sansa admitted. Margaery’s whole face changed, sitting on the bed next to her.

“I think it’s time we have the talk.” Sansa laughed, lightly kicking out at her friend.

“I’ve had the talk before. Mum gave it to me, twice actually. When I was thirteen and when I went on birth control before I started KLU.”

That had been another fight. Sansa and Catelyn had never fought, never had those stereotypical mother/daughter teenage spats, until her senior year, and they had two big blowouts. The first had been about KLU. The second had been Sansa’s idea to go on birth control before she left, just in case. She’d won both arguments, but severely fractured their relationship in the process.

“No, not that talk. We’re going to have the real sex talk. The one my cousin Elinor gave me when I was in high school. C’mon.” Margaery got up and indicated that Sansa follow her.

“What, we’ve got to go somewhere else to have a sex talk?”

“We’re going to go try on sexy lingerie, find something that makes you confident, then go out for some nice wine and talk. No more of this _Cosmo_ crap. That’s not where you and Jon should be starting. C’mon.”

“All right. Fine.” Sansa moved her laptop back to her desk and grabbed the hoodie from her chair before joining Margaery on the stairs.

“Loras, I’m borrowing the car! Be back later!” she yelled through the first floor on their way out the door.

* * *

 

“Nice hoodie,” Margaery commented as they wound their way through the mall, heading for the lingerie store. Sansa had to look down to realize she was wearing Jon’s, the one she’d borrowed when he stayed over and had yet to return.

“Thanks.”

“You know if we don’t find anything, you could probably just wear that with nothing underneath and be good.”

“I think I’ll stick to wearing underwear.”

In the store, Sansa mostly just followed Margaery, who piled her arms with bits of lace, satin, and silk. Everything she was going to point out as cute Margaery was already handing her, in addition to some more daring pieces Sansa typically wouldn’t have grabbed.

Sansa had never owned lingerie. She actually didn’t own anything that wasn’t nearly entire cotton, and she was also pretty sure she didn’t own a matching set of bra and underwear. She’d never had the occasion to wear anything nicer.

Part of her was excited to try all of it on, excited to think of Jon’s reaction when he sees her in whatever she ended up getting, but part of her was nervous too. Not for what the buying lingerie could lead to, but the process of trying it all on. She thought, especially with Margaery there, she might look like a little girl playing dress up in her sister’s clothes. Sansa was slender—not anywhere as curvy as Margaery was, and she was nervous about how all of it would look on her, if it would fit her right. If Jon would like the way it fit her.

“All right, let’s try these on.” Sansa followed Margaery to the dressing rooms in the back, unsurprised when her best friend joined her inside.

After trying on several of the more complicated options, Sansa was actually thankful for Margaery’s presence, as they were nearly impossible to get in and out of on her own.

“I think we need something a little more simple. Jon doesn’t seem the type for fancy frills or excessive straps,” Margaery decided, removing a handful of hangers from the pile. Sansa agreed. She was pretty sure the only reason Margaery knew how the contraptions worked was because she owned versions of them, and she doubted Jon would be much help in actually removing them.

Sansa tried on another round and they decided that with her hair color, red lingerie clashed.

“What’s Jon’s favorite color?”

“Black,” Sansa answered automatically. Margaery didn’t bother to hide her snort.

“All right, black only then.” The pile was cut in half then, suddenly looking much more reasonable.

It was probably close to an hour later and Sansa’s shoulders ached from pulling things on and off, from twisting, and from occasionally getting stuck in a piece. In the end, they found three pieces Sansa liked enough to get.

Some of the options just hadn’t look right on her body type and some, Margaery agreed, made it look like Sansa was trying too hard. She wasn’t the bombshell knockout that could pull off a purely lace body suit or underwear that had a heart cut out of the back of it. And both women agreed that Jon wouldn’t prefer anything that extravagant. Margaery called him a _man of simple tastes_ and while that wasn’t a compliment coming from Margaery, Sansa had to agree. She knew he’d love her in anything, but there were probably certain styles he’d find more attractive than others.

The three pieces she ended up getting were all relatively simple and rather tame compared to some of the other ones she tried on. One was a matching bra and underwear set, in black. The bra had lace over the cups, but was otherwise a normal bra, not entirely dissimilar from anything else she owned. The same went for the underwear—black cotton, except around the waist and leg holes were a band of lace to match the bra. The other two pieces were more pajamas than lingerie, but Margaery insisted they counted. One was a satin shorts and cami set, in black, that were incredibly comfortable with a thin line of lace around the neckline and the bottom of the shorts. The third was a short satin nightgown—called a slip, apparently—with spaghetti straps and went to her upper thigh. All three made Sansa feel sexy and confident.

“I’ll go pay for these while you change,” Margaery offered, taking up the three pieces and edging out of the dressing room.

“Uh, no! Margaery! I can’t let you pay for that!” Sansa protested.

“It’ll be my birthday present to you. And Jon, whenever his birthday is. C’mon, get changed, so we can go drink.” She disappeared then and Sansa sighed, pulling on her clothes. 

* * *

 

“We’ll take a sweet hippocras and a basket of mozzarella sticks,” Margaery ordered once they’d been sat in a somewhat secluded booth in a restaurant near the mall. Sansa scrunched up her nose.

“Do those really go well together?” Margaery shrugged.

“Mozzarella sticks are more for demonstration—though I’m sure not to scale,” Margery tacked on quickly, holding her hands up in a mock surrender. Sansa’s entire body flared red. “I’m joking. I’m just craving fried cheese right now.”

“All right, but none of this _talk_ until after the drinks come, all right?” Margaery sighed but agreed.

They spent the time talking of more innocent things—Sansa sharing details of her relationship with Jon she hadn’t gotten a chance to yet. She shared about how she started going to his work before he got off so she could draw his hands covered in grease. She was determined to have one of them be a sketch she put up for the showcase. If it wasn’t busy, Jon would let her sit by his station and she’d watch him work, drawing him while he did. If it was busy, or if Davos, the owner, was there, she’d sit in Sam’s office and watch him work.

She shared how much they both loved cuddling and how she thought waking up with Jon in her arms was the best feeling ever.

“Even better than orgasms?” Margaery asked, as the drinks and food came just before. Sansa blushed again, taking a large swallow from her glass. She drank nearly half of it in one go. “All right, spill.”

“Equal,” Sansa started with, but then stopped. She didn’t know where to begin. Margaery must’ve been able to tell, because she leaned forward.

“What base have you gotten to?” she asked quietly, making sure her voice didn’t carry. Sansa screwed up her face, trying to remember what the bases even were.

“Second, maybe? Between second and third? What’s grinding?” Sansa whispered, also leaning forward. Margaery slid her glass closer to the middle of the table, and scooted around the booth, urging Sansa to do the same until they sat in the middle and they could talk quietly without being overheard.

“Grinding’s not a base, hon.” Sansa scowled, partially at Margaery but also at the fact she knew her blush wasn’t going to fade for this entire conversation.

“What’re the bases again then?”

“Making out, feeling, fingering, sex,” Margaery rattled off, holding up a figure for each one.

“Oral isn’t a base?”

“Erm. No. No one’s _expected_ to do oral,” Margaery said slowly and in a sharper tone than Sansa expected. “Well, really, no one’s _expected_ to go around the bases, not if you don’t want to. But usually to get to fourth, you’re supposed to go through the first three. You don’t have to do oral to get home,” Margaery explained. Her face shifted suddenly, looking concerned. “Jon hasn’t told you that it is, has he? He doesn’t _expect_ you to give him a blow job?” She looked almost angry.

“No, no, no, not at all! He just said how… how excited he was for me to be ready for him to come down on me…so, I assumed…”

“Huh. Well, that’s a new one. So you… _want_ to give Jon a blow job?” Sansa nodded decisively, because she thought her voice was probably little more than a squeak. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. “All right, I’m not a fan of them, but I can give you a few tips. First of all, tongue. You don’t have to bob up and down until they finish—which, by the way, you don’t have to finish him off if you don’t want to, you can always switch to your hand if the idea of it grosses you out.”

“What do I do with my tongue?” Sansa asked, confused. It’s not as though she could stick it somewhere—at least she hoped not.

“Think of eating a popsicle. Sometimes you have to lick it. Just trust me, use your tongue. Do what feels natural. Second, you don’t have to even try to fit it all in.” Sansa blushed even deeper than she had before. “Use your hand for everything else. Third, don’t use your teeth.” This time Sansa rolled her eyes.

“I knew that one!” Sansa squealed indignantly. “Also, shouldn’t that’ve been the number one piece of advice?” Margaery shrugged.

“So what else have you done? What did you mean between second and third base?” She asked it while biting into a mozzarella stick and Sansa had to wipe the image from her mind before continuing.

“Like…Using fingers, but not fingering?” Margaery stared at her, uncomprehending for a few awkward beats. Sansa saw the light in her best friend’s eyes when it finally clicked.

“You’ve caught yourself a good one, if he knows where the clit is _and_ likes giving oral. I’m impressed. What about for his side?”

“Hand jobs, except… He doesn’t let me finish him? He does it himself?” Sansa asked softly. It had been her real question for Margaery: _was that normal? Or was there something wrong with her?_ Margaery was waving her hand though—mozzarella stick still in it—before she could even force the words out.

“Just pay attention to what he does at the end. It’s probably just a specific way he does it and he’s too shy to show you how.” Sansa nodded, taking a bite of her own mozzarella stick. That did sound like something Jon would do, and it did make sense.

“How long do you think we should wait?” Sansa posed, not looking directly at her best friend.

“For…?”

“Sex.”

“As long _or as short_ as you need. As you both need. Don’t listen to anything anyone says about how long you’re supposed to wait. All that third date crap is bullshit. And so is everything that shames people for having sex early in the relationship. All of it’s shit.”

“But how do I know if he’s ready?”

“You ask him.” Sansa opened her mouth, ready to argue. She couldn’t just _ask_ Jon that. “Uh uh, no. If you can’t talk about it openly and honestly then you shouldn’t be having sex with that person. You remember all that _communication is important_ crap they told us at orientation?” Sansa nodded, remembering vaguely, but she was pretty sure that lecture didn’t have anything to do with sex. “Most important thing in a healthy relationship.”

“Good to know,” Sansa muttered, thinking of the conversation she had Jon had about how lopsided his relationship with Ygritte had been. She wondered if he knew that. Sansa made a note to remember to share it with him when she saw him next, though she thought they’ve started off rather strong in that area.

* * *

 

_What time do you get out of class tonight?_

Sansa was texting Robb the day after her shopping trip with Margaery. She had a plan forming. Not for sex, not until they had a conversation about it, but for taking the next step. Sansa was ready and excited for it. She wanted to show Jon how much she cared about pleasing him too.

Over the week and a half they’d been slowly exploring each other’s bodies, Sansa realized Jon was very responsive to touch, any touch really. She’d sort of gathered that before, from their cuddling, but she had no idea just how deprived he’d been for affection, sexual or otherwise. She loved how his eyes would close, how he’d sigh, how his breath would hitch, how his muscles tensed, no matter if it was her fingers on his stomach or her lips on his ear, but part of it broke her heart too. Because every time she did, a look of surprise flashed in his eyes. Every time, he put her first and seemed to consider himself, his own pleasure, as an after thought. As though it wasn’t important.

Sansa was determined to prove that it was.

**8:20 class ends.**

_In the Red Hall?_

**Yup.**

_Which room?_

**Why?**

_I wanna surprise Jon._

**283.**

* * *

 

At seven-thirty, Margaery wrangled the keys back from Loras and gave them to Sansa.

“He’ll kill me if anything happens to the car,” she warned.

“I do know how to drive. And it’s only to downtown and campus and back. It’ll be like, a total of fifteen minutes I’ll actually be driving.” Margaery smirked.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she offered as Sansa headed down stairs. She had a bigger bag than she usually carried with her—this one big enough for more than just her sketchbook and wallet.

Sansa drove the car to the taco place Jon had taken her to for their date. She ordered what she remembered Jon ordering last time and something for herself to go. In the car she put it in an insulated bag to keep it warm before driving back across to campus, where the Red Hall was. She left both the bag of food and her own bag in the car.

It was ten past eight when Sansa finally found room 283, up three flights of stairs, which made no sense, and she finally settled on the bench outside his class. She was wearing his hoodie again, it was her preferred form of warmth and he swore he had another that he could wear for the evenings when it was cold enough. She loved how warm it was, but mostly she loved that it was his, and it smelled like him. Clean and a little like the north.

She pulled it up around her while she waited, inhaling the scent.

Just before twenty past, students started streaming out of the classroom. Sansa stayed where she was, waiting for Jon to come out. She wanted to see the look on his face when he caught sight of her, which should be easy enough. She was in a black hoodie with her red hair down, sitting against a white wall.

He and Robb were the last two out of the room, and he was looking at his phone as he walked out. Robb saw Sansa though, and nudged Jon for her. She watched as he looked up, confused, before he saw her on the bench. His face broke into a massive grin.

“What’re you doing here?” Jon nearly lifted her off the ground he hugged her so tight. Anyone watching would have thought they hadn’t seen each other in ages, when in reality it had been three days.

“Surprising you. Thought we could have a date night in. I’ve picked up dinner from the taco place you like.” The look on his face was enough to melt Sansa’s heart. “C’mon, I’ve got Margaery’s car.” Sansa wrapped her hand in his, waving to Robb, before leading a slightly stunned Jon back down the way she’d came.

Jon waited until they were in the car to lean over and kiss her. Sansa thought the soft and tender way he kissed her, one hand on her jawline, might’ve been his way of saying thanks for the thought of surprising him with dinner.

Over dinner they filled each other in on the past three days, except Sansa kept her shopping trip with Margaery a secret, until later. Jon told her about Grenn, who’d apparently met someone, but she wasn’t the same type of woman he normally went for, and he had no idea how to approach her. Sansa told Jon about the compliment she’d gotten from one of her professors on a piece. They talked about what they should do over spring break, to celebrate her birthday and the end of midterms. They discussed what they had to do to prepare for their respective midterms.

All through dinner, Sansa couldn’t wait until they went to bed. 

* * *

 

After they cleaned the dishes together, they watched an episode of a TV show they’d started last week, Sansa cuddled up against him on the sofa. She watched the minutes of the tracking bar tick down, excited for it to be over. She barely paid attention to it, in all honesty. She was looking forward to afterward too much.

If Jon thought it was strange that she brought her bag in the bathroom with her after the show, he didn’t comment. He’d already brushed his teeth and Sansa said she’d be in in a minute. She brushed her teeth and washed her face like she normally did, but she also changed into her pajamas in the bathroom, which she normally didn’t do. She normally just wore a t-shirt of his, but she wanted to show off one of her birthday presents from Margaery. She thought the shorts and cami set was just casual enough that Jon would notice but wouldn’t be glaringly obvious that she wanted to try something new tonight.

Sansa paused in the doorway, waiting for Jon to notice. He’d been folding his jeans into one of the crates, but he stopped when he saw her.

“New pajamas?” he asked after a beat. Sansa smiled.

“Yeah. Do you like ‘em?” Jon opened his mouth but no sound came out for a second.

“I…yeah. Yeah. They look nice.”

“Thanks,” she beamed before moving over to the bed.

Jon joined her a minute later, flicking off the light before sliding in next to her. Sansa instantly wrapped herself around him, pulling him closer.

Sansa started by kissing his shoulder, soft, light pecks, but he sighed all the same. When she got to his neck he groaned, a low and deep sound that Sansa felt vibrate through her body. Sansa kissed her way up, along upper edge of his beard, all the way to his lips.

He kissed her hungrily, hands threading gently through her hair. Sansa slid her leg over his hips then, giving herself better leverage. She was holding herself up with her legs, allowing her hands to sink through his hair on either side until they met at the back of his head. His muscles responded nearly the same way to her touching his hair as he did her kissing his neck.

When she broke away, he was breathing heavily, his hands motionless on her hips.

“I wanna try something new. Is that all right?” she asked, one hand braced on his chest and the other pushing a stray curl out of his face. He closed his eyes briefly.

“Anything you want, Sansa.” She held his eyes once they’d opened, making sure that there was no hesitancy in his eyes. Jon nodded again, reassuring her.

Sansa pressed a few more kisses to his lips before moving downwards, slowly kissing his neck, his collarbone, his chest. She’d done the same thing last week, but those kisses had all been chaste pecks. These weren’t. These were open-mouthed kisses, slow and sensual.

“Seven hells, Sansa,” he gasped when she passed his navel. Sansa glanced up, smirking, before bending down again to lightly bite at his hip. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the muscles in his forearms go taut. She giggled into his skin, kissing across the line of skin right above the waistband of his boxers until she got to the center of his hips. There, she pulled at the waistband with her teeth and Jon’s breath wheezed out.

Hooking her fingers under the band, she started to pull down, sliding off so that she could get them off his legs. His hand caught around her wrist, stopping her.

“Sansa, you don’t…” Jon paused, closing his eyes and swallowing. “I know I said I was excited for you to be ready for the next step, but this isn’t what I meant… I meant me going down on you,” he confessed quietly, reaching up with one hand to push hair behind her ear, as she’d done to him.

“I know,” Sansa whispered, leaning down so that they were close enough to kiss. “I’m looking forward to that. _After_.” She kissed him, deeply, trying to convey everything she knew it was too early to say in it. He moaned into her mouth, pulling her closer before releasing her and allowing her to pull off his boxers.

It was the first time she’d seen him naked, seen any man naked, actually. She had nothing to compare Jon to, but she still thought he was beautiful.

Sansa ran her hands over his hips and the tops of his thighs, leaning down to kiss around him. He was nearly panting at this point and she hadn’t actually touched him yet.

She nipped at a stretch of pelvic skin once last time before wrapping her hand around his base and angling it upward.

Jon’s whole body was tense, his hands fisted in the sheets. When Sansa finally leaned down, her tongue swirling around his head, Jon’s back arched and he nearly rose off the bed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, voice wrecked and out of breath. Sansa answered by closing her mouth around him, lips meeting her hand, and starting to slowly move. She would occasionally circle her tongue around him, or allow her tongue to extend so that she was licking up the underside. Every time she did that, a sound would come from deep with in him that sounded like a growl.

Sansa started moving her hand with her mouth, in time, and she felt the muscles in his thighs flex when she did. She started to move faster, pulling her cheeks in as she did.

“F-fuck…” he stuttered. Sansa moaned around him, just to see what would happen, and she felt as he pushed himself to his elbows. Sansa glanced up, not removing her mouth from him. He stared at her with blown out eyes, his mouth agape, and flushed. She moaned again and he threw his head back, hands ripping through his curls.

Sansa kept moving, alternating her tongue with moans, moving her hand up and down what her mouth couldn’t reach. It was only seconds later when Jon was pushing himself up again.

“Sansa, wait, stop, I’m—I’m going…” Sansa only moaned again, and watched as he fell back on the bed, whole body rigid as she felt him finish. She swallowed it down before she could think or taste it, crawling up Jon’s spent body to kiss him.

Jon kissed back slowly, a half second late. He was still breathily heavily when Sansa stretched out next to him, resting her chin on his shoulder and playing with his hair until he managed to open an eye.

“Was that all right? I’ve never done it before,” she whispered, gazing at him. Jon let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his hand over his face.

“That was…” He sighed, pausing. “I’ve…That was new for me too,” he answered, looking away. Sansa opened her mouth, to clarify, to ask, _but you dated someone for two years?_ But then she remembered that the most she knew about their relationship was that it was lopsided. She closed her mouth again.

Jon closed his eyes again, sliding his arm around so that he was holding her again him. His breathing hadn’t quite returned to steady yet.

“We can wait, if you’re tired,” she said, once his breathing slowed down and it almost sounded as if he were asleep. His eyes flew open at that though.

“I’m not _that_ tired,” he near-growled, flipping them so fast Sansa hadn’t realized it’d happened until he was hovering over her. She smirked up at him. She hadn’t seen this side of him, a look in his eyes that made him look almost wild. Every other time he looked like he was waiting for her permission, but this time he looked confident, like he knew what he was doing.

Jon started kissing her the same way she kissed him, except his rough hands raised goosebumps as they skimmed across her stomach and up her sides. He was slowly pushing the satin cami up, kissing every new inch of skin revealed until the fabric was pushed above her breasts. Sansa leaned forward so he could pull it off, and when she laid back down, his hands were paused on her ribs and he was staring at her.

“Seven save me,” he breathed, stroking his knuckles along her side. Sansa fought the tickling sensation it brought. “You’re perfect.” She lifted her eyes to meet his then, and the look he was giving her floored her. His eyes were liquid, they were so soft, and his mouth was just parted slightly. It was how she’d seen Robb look at Jeyne, just magnified by a thousand.

Sansa raised herself up to kiss him gently and break his reverie.

Jon pulled away, lowering her back down to kiss her collarbones, the stretch of skin between her breasts. He moved his hands to cup them, thumbs slowly moving up to brush over her nipples. As soon as they did she gasped.

Jon continued to move his thumbs over them even as he kissed his way down her stomach and with each touch Sansa felt heat pooling below her stomach.

“ _Oh_!” she cried when he timed his thumbs with nipping at her hipbone, much as she did to him. She felt him press another kiss there before she felt his hands leave her entirely.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhmm,” she breathed, arching her back for more contact.

She got it, his fingers curling under the band of her shorts and underwear and pulling them off.

The cold air caused her to tense, but Jon’s warm hands were on her thighs, her hips, her stomach, and she relaxed.

Sansa felt the bed shift as Jon lowered himself, kissing at her inner thighs the way she’d kissed his chest. She felt something in her pelvis tightening every time he inched closer to her center. Before he reached his destination, Sansa pulled a pillow over, propping herself up so that she could watch him. She liked being able to see his eyes.

Jon kissed right above her clit, and Sansa allowed a frustrated sigh to escape. She felt more than heard Jon’s chuckle, the air cool against her warmth. He kissed her again before sinking just slightly lower, his tongue grazing her. Her whole body tensed before he moved his tongue with more pressure and Sansa’s body was relaxing, her legs falling to the side and eyes sliding shut.

He moved his tongue in a circle, the varying pressure keeping her orgasm from building too quickly. He’d lightly swipe with the tip then press with the flat of his tongue, and each time he applied more pressure a low moan escaped her.

When she was moaning with nearly every other breath, Jon reached his hand around her leg, pulling back the skin that covered her clit. He moved his head so he was reaching the highest point and started sucking lightly.

Sansa’s feet planted in the mattress and she started moving her hips to meet his movements.

Her eyes slit open just enough to see Jon, see his grey eyes staring up at her. With effort, she moved her hand into his hair, not tugging or pulling, but just resting it there. It seemed to spur Jon on though, because he started working faster, his tongue conducting tight circles at the top of her clit, sending tingles all through her body.

Sansa was panting, all of her muscles constricting, her hand tightening in his hair, eyes squeezed tight enough shut that she saw stars, and then she was gasping, moaning loud enough that she would’ve been embarrassed if she had the sense to think to be. Her whole body quaked until she collapsed on the bed.

She felt Jon’s warmth leave her but she was too drained to open her eyes. She was too drained to pull on her underwear, to do anything but lie there really.

“Are you all right?” Sansa heard Jon ask, the bed shifting and a warm body beside her. She nodded weakly. She rolled towards him, snuggling her head to his chest. She felt him kiss her hair. She opened her eyes blearily, taking a second to register everything.

Sansa kissed his chest once she regained her strength and rolled out of bed to pull her underwear and pajamas on. She saw that Jon already had his boxers on.

Sansa crawled back in next to him, turning so that they were face-to-face, legs and arms entangled between them. He was staring at her with unguarded eyes.

“It was all right?” he asked quietly, eyes flickering between hers. Sansa kissed him in response. He sighed when they broke apart, closing his eyes and looking as though he were already half asleep. Sansa had to say something though, while might still be awake.

“You’re perfect too, Jon,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have another chapter up before this weekend. Right now I'm doing pretty good on every other day, give or take an hour.


	20. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I'm so sorry for disappearing like that. I was hoping to get this up before I left on Friday but that didn't happen so thank you all for your patience. 
> 
> Good news though--went into a souvenir shop on vacation and they had a bunch of GoT swords, so guess who bought Needle? (My boyfriend bought Longclaw because we're both extreme nerds).

_You’re perfect too, Jon_.

The words echoed in his mind as he woke up. He wasn’t sure if he’d dreamed Sansa saying them or if they were actual words she’d uttered as he fell asleep.

Trying to recall, Jon went through he events of last night, but what he remembered couldn’t have been real. It must’ve all been an elaborate dream, because there was no way what he remembered could’ve happened.

He still felt weary from the orgasm though, even after a whole night’s sleep. There was no way that was residue from a dream, which meant it must’ve happened. He didn’t just dream Sansa’s head bobbing between his thighs; she’d actually done it. A dream he’d never in his life dared to dream came true.

Everything that Sansa had done last night was something Jon never would’ve dreamed happening to him. Not just the fact that she’d gone down on him, but the fact that she was so _focused_ on him. Everything she’d done made his heart stop, made his blood roar in his ears. Every touch, every kiss had been for him and him alone and he loved her for it.

He’d never felt so wrecked, so torn a part, even during sex. He’d never orgasmed so hard that he saw stars. He’d never been so worked up by anyone that he thought he was going to come before she’d even took off his boxers.

Jon tried to think of something else, something other than what happened last night, because his brain wasn’t the only part of him remembering, and he thought he might die of embarrassment if he accidentally woke up Sansa with his hard cock against her back.

Jon shifted his hips back, so that they weren’t pressed together. Sansa chased his hips back through, lining them back up. He tried to wiggle away again and he heard Sansa’s soft giggle when he did.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as she rolled over so that they were facing each other. “I woke up thinking about last night.”

“That good, huh?” she laughed. Jon felt his face heat up. He was sure that was answer enough. “We can do an encore if it was that good,” she suggested, her own face tingeing a rosy pink. Jon pushed his head back into the pillow and groaned at the thought. The blush Sansa had was contradicting her playful smirk, but Jon found her all the cuter for it.

“I honestly don’t think I’d recover in time for work if we did,” he sighed and she giggled again.

“That’s all right. We can do it again tonight,” she shrugged before swinging her legs out of the bed. Jon watched her walk towards the kitchen; his brain still stick on _we can do it again tonight_.

He could hardly believe last night happened, he never even considered the possibility of it happening again. He was shocked that she wasn’t so repulsed by it that she was willing to try it again.

“You coming to eat, love?” Sansa called and Jon froze—even his heart stilled. _Love._ She called him _love._ No one had called him love, or any other pet name really. Ygritte had just called him Jon, and even then it didn’t sound the same as how Sansa said it.

He was still in bed, his heard thudding, when Sansa appeared in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, it just came out.” She looked almost worried that she did something wrong. Jon couldn’t have her looking like that, scared and hesitant, like she wanted to take it back. He couldn’t have her take it back. Jon pushed himself out of bed, closing the space between them in only two steps. He brushed a whisper soft kissed to her lips, holding her face in his hands.

“Don’t be,” he breathed, his forehead pressed against hers. His eyes were squeezed shut, committing the moment to memory. He felt Sansa’s hand in his hair and his breath faltered.

Instead of hating this moment for how it would feel when the end inevitably came, Jon soaked it in, focusing on being thrilled that the moment was happening in the first place. Sansa pressed another quick kiss to his lips before moving back towards the kitchen.

“Coming, love?” she tossed over her shoulder, smiling ear to ear, and Jon found himself grinning, following her out just to wrap his arms around her again.

* * *

 

At the corner where Sansa would typically turn to walk home, she continued walking with him, saying she wanted to get some sketching done. He wasn’t sure what she found so inspiring at the shop that she repeatedly asked to accompany him, but he liked her being there. He liked that she wasn’t scared of his friends with rougher edges—that she wasn’t afraid of the dirt and grime and grease that covered the shop. He liked that she wanted to spend more time with him.

Edd waved Sansa up to Sam’s office as soon as they walked in, which either meant Davos was in or they were swamped. She kissed him quickly before ducking around to the stairs and Jon knew he made the right call this morning. Her kisses could make his head spin—her going down on him would’ve rendered him incapable for the rest of the day.

He was thankful for her being cloistered in Sam’s office though, because her birthday was just over a week away and he had absolutely no clue on what to get her. Not that he thought any of the lads might have a valid idea, but they’d at least steer him away from completely stupid ones.

He’d had a few ideas, but everything seemed dull and inconsequential after she literally made him a map of his favorite time period. He had his head set on making something for her, partially because he couldn’t afford to get her anything as nice as she deserved, but also because _she recreated a whole map for him_ and it only seemed fair.

He posed his situation to Edd, Grenn, and Pyp while they worked, knowing that it was just loud enough Sansa wouldn’t be able to hear them in Sam’s office.

“Well, what’re you good at?” Edd asked, digging in the toolbox at his side.

“Pool and fixing cars,” Jon answered bitterly. _And going down on girls_ , he added in his head. He’d been told that one before, by enough people that he actually believed it, though he wasn’t going to share that with any of them. They’d just suggest he go down on her for her birthday. He would, if she wanted him to, but he wanted to get her, or make her, something too.

“Give her your hoodie. She wears it often enough.”

“That’s not really a gift though, is it? Giving her something that’s already basically hers?” They shrugged.

“Build her a car!” Grenn suggested. Jon scowled, though his head was under the hood of a truck, so no one saw it.

“I’m not building her a bloody car! Her birthday’s in a week!”

“You said she got you something for Christmas? What’d she get you?”

“Socks, slippers, and she drew a replica of a six foot ancient map.” He heard one of them whistle.

“Give her some sweet love for her birthday.” Jon’s head snapped up, nearly smashing into the hood of the truck. He wasn’t sure which one said it, but either way he couldn’t vary well throw one of them against a car at work for saying it, even if he did know which one had. Jon glared daggers at all three of them anyway.

“Seven hells, Jon. We’re joking.” Jon didn’t respond, only ducking his head back under the hood and hoping his anger went away before one of them said or did something stupid and he’d respond stupidly.

“C’mon, there’s gotta be something else you’re good at.” Jon braced his hands on either side of the truck, letting his head hang. There wasn’t anything else he was good at. He could fix cars, he could shoot pool, he could learn and study history, he could give good oral, but that was it. He wasn’t good at anything, not the way Sansa was.

“There’s nothing else,” he muttered, frustrated with himself the way he hadn’t been for a while.

“What’s the problem here?” Davos asked, coming from his office that was attached to the car bay.

“Jon’s girlfriend’s birthday’s coming up and he can’t figure out a present for her,” Edd explained, pointing casually up towards Sam’s office.

“Oh, she’s a beauty. You best get her something nice, Jon.” Jon groaned.

“He wants to make her something,” one of them supplied and he could feel Davos’s eyes on him.

“Why’s that now?”

“She made him a map, apparently.” Jon sighed, turning away from the engine he was working on. He pulled his phone out and showed Davos a picture of the map. It had been his background until Sansa stole his phone last weekend and took of picture of them when he hadn’t been paying attention. She’d kissed his cheek for the picture and she’d managed to catch his look of surprise.

“She made you that?” Davos clarified, pointing to the picture he had on his phone. Jon nodded.   
“You’re a lucky man, Jon Snow. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Jon nodded again, sullenly. He wasn’t so sure. “How’d you do with patching the bumper?”

Jon led him around to the other side of the truck. The owner had gotten into a fender bender and instead of driving around with a small hole in their bumper, or replacing a the whole thing, they’d specifically asked that it be patched. With metal. Jon thought duct tape would do the job nicely, but apparently the owner was fussy and wanted it to look as if he’d never been in an accident, without placing the bumper.

It had taken Jon a few hours of brainstorming to figure out cutting, warping, and painting a scrap piece of steel would work without being too much work or too pricey for the shop.

Jon showed Davos the bumper, which even he had to admit looked pretty good.

“Where’s the patch?”

“Right here,” Jon pointed, indicating the area that, if the light hit just right, you could see the outline of.

“You’re a fine metalworker, Jon. Maybe you could make her something out of metal. There’s plenty of scrap around here,” Davos suggested, clapping him on the shoulder once before moving on. Jon stared at the patch he’d created, considering.

That wouldn’t be impossible. He was decent at working metal—shop had been the other class he’d been good at in high school, other than history.

The only question was, what to make her? It wasn’t as though he could make a patch for her car.

Sansa left after his lunch break, saying she was going home to study before he got off, and kissing him softly goodbye. He didn’t bother with holding his greasy hands away from her when they embraced, confident that she wouldn’t care if he got a little grease on her.

Jon spent the rest of the afternoon trying to think of what he could make her out of scrap steel. Sam had his office window open now that Sansa had left, and Jon thought he might have better ideas than the rest of them.

“Davos suggested I make her something with some scrap steel, but what do I make her?” he asked, having not thought of anything by the time his shift was nearly over.

“Make her a piece of jewelry. How romantic would that be? Handcrafted jewelry?” Jon opened his mouth but closed it immediately. It was actually a fairly good idea, if only he knew what to make.

“All right, but what do I make?”

“A pendent wouldn’t be too hard, would it?”

“But a pendent of _what_?” _A heart?_ he thought, but that would be clichéd and obvious. She already wore a necklace with a bird pendant. He hadn’t seen enough healthy adult relationships to know what type of jewelry men gave women they loved besides rings and hearts.

“It looks like finger prints, coordinates, and sound waves are all very popular,” Sam offered. Jon couldn’t imagine how he found that that fast.

“They’re very unhelpful. How am I supposed to make one of those from scrap steel?”

“Is there some sort of symbol you have for your relationship? Or a pet name you have for her?” _She called me ‘love’ this morning_ , he thought, but he hadn’t called her anything other than _Sansa_. And the symbol of love was a heart, so that just left him back where he started.

“No,” he muttered bitterly instead.

“Hmm. There also seems to be a trend for giving snowflake pendants. ‘ _Each one is unique, just like your love’_ is says.”

“No.”

“What? Why? It’d be relatively easy to make.” Jon wouldn’t explain why hurt panged in his chest when he heard _snowflake._ It was too close to snow, to _Snow_ , to his last name, forever marking him as a foundling with no family. Why would he give Sansa something he associated with his burden? 

* * *

 

Jon headed straight to Sansa’s when he got off. She’d packed his stuff in her bag that morning, as they were supposed to go out with her friends to The Crooked Mane that evening. They hadn’t gone out, aside from their date and Flea’s Bottom, since before they started dating.

Jon wasn’t typically a fan of going out, not to The Crooked Mane at least, or he hadn’t, until he went with Sansa. She’d somehow made drinking overpriced drinks and sweating too close to people he didn’t know fun. Even so, he was nervous about going out with them tonight, because it wouldn’t just be him, Sansa, and Margaery like it had been yesterday. This time it was all of her roommates.

He still thought this would be less awkward than it would’ve been if they’d all been at the dinner Margaery had for them last weekend—the one Robb had surprisingly shown up to. That had been bad enough, without four more people he barely knew thrown into the mix.

Jon still couldn’t get over what Robb had said to him at the end of that dinner.

_She’s my sister, but you’re my brother and I’ll disown her if she hurts you._

Not _she’s my sister and if you hurt her, I’ll kill you._ Not _I’m all right with you dating, but I’d rather not see it._ Not _you’re my best friend, but she’s my sister and I have to protect her._ He said _She’s my sister, but you’re my brother and I’ll disown her if she hurts you._

Jon doubted that Robb would if it came down to it, but that wasn’t the point. The point was Robb was putting him first, even over his own sister. He knew Sansa would probably put him first, but Robb putting him first was something else entirely. It made him feel like he was almost part of a family.

* * *

 

Sansa greeted him with a kiss as soon as she opened the door. He was starting to get used to it—being kissed and touched so often, but part of him hoped he never actually got used to it, because he loved the way it sent his heart racing or caused goosebumps to rise on his skin.

“I’ve got your stuff in my room, but I put a towel for you in the bathroom as well,” she told him, leading him up the stairs. She had black smudges on her face, hands, and forearms like he did. He almost asked if she wanted to shower with him, jokingly, but he knew she might actually say yes and he didn’t know if he was ready to be that close and naked with her. He also didn’t know how he felt about showering with her while her roommates were all home.

“Thanks.”

“Mhmm. Do you need any help figuring out the shower? It takes a minute to heat up but then it should be fine.”

“No, I’m all right.” She smiled, kissing him again, before shutting the door behind her and Jon found himself again using Sansa Stark’s shower.

He was tempted to use one of her shampoos or body washes, just to smell her a little longer, but he realized quickly, when he saw two scrub things, that she shared the bathroom with Margaery and he had no way of really knowing what was Sansa’s and what was Margaery’s so he stuck to the basic soap and shampoo he brought from his.

Once he scrubbed the grease off, Jon wrapped himself in a fluffy towel that he thought smelled of Sansa.

In her room, she had his boxers and other clothes set out on her bed for him. She was on the bed as well, though her sketchbook wasn’t in her lap the way it normally was; instead there was a book. She looked up when he came in, setting the book aside.

“I thought we could just hang out in here until we order pizza. You said you had studying to do, right?” she asked. Jon nodded, pulling his boxers on under the towel. When he turned to pull his pants on, Sansa giggled behind him. “You’re back’s still dripping wet. Come here,” she beckoned. He sat on the bed where she indicated and she reached over, taking the towel from him. Slowly, she caught the drops on his back he’d missed, and squeezed the excess water from his hair. It was in no way sensual and it shouldn’t have been romantic, but Jon still felt warm and fuzzy inside.

Once he was dressed, Sansa moved over on her bed, making room for him.

“Actually…erm, can I use your desk to study? I don’t know that I’d be able to focus sitting on a bed with you,” he admitted, face warming. He wondered if he’d ever stop blushing around her. Sansa giggled, looking proud rather than embarrassed like he did.

“Of course, move whatever you need to.”

He situated himself at her desk and he was able to get quite a bit done, though he was occasionally distracted. Every so often Sansa would reach out from her position on the end of the bed, resting her foot or her hand on his arm or his lap. He liked that even when they weren’t cuddling, she was still touching him.

Jon didn’t get everything he needed to done, but he got enough to warrant closing the textbook for the day and crawling in next to Sansa.

“Done?” she asked, closing her book and moving it to the nightstand. He laid down next to her, thinking maybe he’d spoon her a bit, but she rolled on top of him, her legs resting between his and her chin on his chest. Jon liked the weight of her on him. It was reassuring. He made him feel rooted, like someone was holding him from drifting off aimlessly on his own, which he supposed, between Sansa and Robb, he was actually growing something quite like roots.

“So this might be awkward,” Sansa started slowly, her finger tracing the line of his collarbone that was exposed from the neck of his t-shirt. “But I think we need to have a conversation.”

Jon’s blood ran cold. He must’ve reacted visibly, somehow—face shifting, eyes widening because Sansa pressed the palm of her hand against his heart that was beating faster than normal, her face horrified.

“No, no! Nothing bad, I swear. I promise you, Jon,” she murmured, leaning forward and kissing his lips. It took him a second to kiss her back and by the time he responded she was pulling away. “No… I think we should talk about… sex.” Jon’s heart continued racing, but for a very different reason. He raised his eyebrows, wondering where this was going. _She wasn’t going to suggest they do it now, was she?_ “When you think you’ll be ready?” Sansa’s voice was quiet, almost squeaking, and she wasn’t looking at him.

“Hey,” he whispered, resting a hand on her cheek. She turned toward it, kissing his palm before slowly raising her eyes to his. “Whenever _you’re_ ready, I’ll be ready.” He thought she was asking how soon before he expected her to have sex with him, but he answered that way a line formed between her eyebrows.

“Jon, I want you to be ready on your own time. You’re willing to wait until I’m ready, and I’m going to do the same.” Her face was serious and Jon’s heart hurt with how much he loved her. Sansa was so _good_ , so kind. He couldn’t believe someone as perfect as Sansa was choosing to be with him.

“Thank you Sansa. I’ll be ready though, when you are. I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” he said slowly. Sansa’s face softened into a smile.

“All right,” she whispered, her hand resuming to trace his collarbone. “I’m not quite ready yet though. There’s a few more things I wanna try first,” she admitted, face pink. Jon nodded.

“We can wait as long as you want,” he told her again, needing her know he would wait. The last thing he wanted was her feeling pressured and resenting him for it later.

“You make it sound like I’m saying I want to wait for marriage. I meant, like, _maybe_ a couple of weeks,” Sansa joked and Jon hoped she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was pounding as she laid her head on his chest. Even if she did, he hoped she assumed it was because they’d just been talking about sex. He told himself that any man’s heart would’ve started racing when a girl said _marriage._ He wouldn’t admit that it wasn’t dread he felt though.

* * *

 

Jon was glad they were going out to The Crooked Mane in order to meet the rest of Sansa’s roommates. The Crooked Mane played music too loudly for any decent conversation and while he liked Margaery well enough, he doubted he could sit through a dinner with all of them. He didn’t do well in larger groups. He typically didn’t do well around people at all, though that was getting easier with Sansa next to him, reassuring him.

Once they were actually at The Crooked Mane, though, it wasn’t as bad as Jon thought. Drogo, the intimidating man, and Margaery worked as drink runners and Sansa seemed to want to spend most of her time on the dance floor anyway. He was glad they wouldn’t have to sit and drink and chat awkwardly, because he doubted he had a whole lot in common with anyone of them. Really, he didn’t have a whole lot in common with Sansa either, which was something he rarely thought about. With her friends though, it kept popping into his head.

The last time he and Sansa were there, they weren’t together. There were things Jon didn’t notice, or forced himself not to pay attention to last time. Like how some guys would watch her dance. Guys that would probably fit in with her friends, who probably hadn’t only ever danced with one girl. Guys who probably weren’t Snows or Waters or any other name that labeled them as unwanted.

Every time one of those thoughts came into Jon’s head, Sansa’s touch would clear it away until the next one came. She was always touching him, be it her hand in his, her arms around his neck, around his waist, or in his hair. They were always touching and she was constantly labeling him as hers. Except it didn’t feel possessive or controlling, not the way it sometimes had with Ygritte. It wasn’t so much that she was reminding him that he was with her, it was more so telling everyone else that they were together.

With every song, every dance, every kiss, touch, look, and word Jon fell more in love with Sansa.

In the weeks following their first date, Jon had kept telling himself it wasn’t love he felt. It was attraction and affection. Then he tried to reason that of course he fell in love with her as quickly as he did. She was the first woman who wanted him, all of him, exactly how he was. It was only natural, after everything he’d been through, that he’d feel so strongly when a woman such as Sansa showed him affection. Jon just wouldn’t allow himself to think of how much it would hurt if things ended the way everything else in his life seemed to.

* * *

 

Jon wasn’t sure how long they’d been dancing for. He knew he’d had a few beers and Sansa had had a few cocktails, but they spent most of their time dancing and he wasn’t focusing on the songs. How could he, with Sansa’s body pressed against his?

She danced with him like she had the last time they were there, but this time Jon let himself actually feel it. He could feel the line of her body, knee to chest, pressed against his. He could feel the muscles in her stomach under his hands as they moved against each other. He could feel the curve of her back fitted exactly into his, the friction heating him in a way he’d stomped down last time. Had he not had a few, he would’ve been embarrassed, but he was buzzed and he liked the feeling of it too much to deny himself of it.

Plus, her running her hands through his hair and over his chest didn’t help.

Sansa must’ve been able to feel his growing hardness against her, because she eventually turned around, continuing to dance, but this time face to face, her pelvis grinding against his. Jon had to swallow his groan.

Sansa only giggled, leaning closer. She moved as though she was going to kiss his cheek, but then bypassed it, her teeth grazing against his ear. His grip on her hips tightened, his eyes briefly closing at the sensation.

“If we leave now, we’ll have the place to ourselves for a few hours,” she whispered in his ear. Jon wanted to immediately start for the door, but he forced himself to pause, pulling his head back to study Sansa’s face. She smiled back, her blinking slow and sultry.

“All right,” he growled, allowing her to pull him through the mob of people, stopping to tell Margaery they were going back early. Jon wasn’t sure what her comment was to that, but Sansa’s face flared red at it.

The walk back felt excruciatingly long, and it didn’t help that Sansa appeared to be trying to turn him on—dragging her fingers down his inner forearm or from his ribs to his hip. He doubted it was normal, how easily aroused he was by her, but she enjoyed turning him on and he wouldn’t deny her that.

* * *

 

“I’ll be in in just a second,” Sansa murmured, kissing him. She disappeared and Jon stood in her room, unsure of what to do. Did he start undressing? Did he pose on the bed? Did he stand there awkwardly until she came back? Sansa reappeared seconds later, dropping something on her nightstand before kicking her door shut and joining him in the center of the room.

She slipped her hands under his shirt, spreading warmth across his back. Jon leaned in to kiss her, taking her bottom lip between his. A combination of last night’s events and the beer in him gave him confidence. A quiet, almost moan rose from Sansa’s throat and Jon clutched her tighter.

They broke apart for a second, but when Sansa recaptured his mouth, she did the same to him, except her teeth skimmed across his lip when she pulled it between her own and the feeling shot below Jon’s abdomen, making his cock twitch.

Jon couldn’t hold back the sound that escaped him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisting her into the air and walking her back towards the bed.

He laid her down gently, still being kissed by her.

Sansa’s hands were eager, pushing his shirt up, over his head, roaming over every part of him. Her hands were soft and warm and dangerous as hell as they ran between the grooves of his stomach and down the line of his spine. Behind her fingers rose a trail of goosebumps, betraying just how much her touch affected him.

His hands ran under her shirt and she arched, allowing him to remove it. Jon mirrored the way her hands moved along his body with his own. He loved how her eyes would close, how she’d moan and gasp, how goosebumps followed his hands too.

He let her undo his belt buckle, ridding him of his pants, but stopped her from rolling them.

“I wanna focus on you first tonight,” he rasped into her ear. If she did what she did last night, he thought he may pass out from it, and he’d rather be able to focus on her first. Sansa didn’t protest though, and helped him wriggle her out of her skinny jeans.

Jon leaned back down to her, kissing her mouth first before moving along her jawline to her ear. He nibbled at it the way she had earlier and her body rose against his.

When he reached her chest, he pushed her bra straps down using his nose, kissing behind them, sliding a hand underneath her to unhook it. Sansa flung it once he’d gotten most of the way off. Jon cupped her breasts, moving his thumbs as he had before but when she didn’t make the same moaning sound she’d done last night, he lowered his head to one of her nipples and swirled his tongue against it. Sansa gasped.

“Do… do that again,” she panted. Jon obliged, working at one with his tongue and the other with his fingers then switching. Sansa’s hips rolled against his thigh, keeping him from going soft.

He slid her underwear off, sliding down on the bed to come down on her, but her hands on his shoulder stopped him.

“Wait, wait. I wanna try something new tonight. Can… can we try fingering? I have lube on the dresser if we need it,” she whispered, fingers soft on his biceps.

“A’course,” he murmured, moving back to hover above her.

Jon kissed her again, one hand drifting down to her thigh. He ghosted his fingers over the top one, across her pelvis and down the other. He did it a second time, edging closer. Then a third, this time making contact with her clit.

Sansa bucked against him gently, moaning into his chest. Jon moved his finger in the same pattern that he moved his tongue yesterday, but stopped before her panting was consistent.

Hesitantly, he moved his finger down, feeling her wetness. He slowly pressed his middle finger against her walls, anxiously watching her face.

Sansa’s eyes were closed, but there was a shadow of a line between her brows. Moving at a glacier pace, Jon continued to press his finger in, waiting for the line to deepen, for any sign of pain to tell him to stop.

Once his finger was nearly in all the way, he paused, watching her face. The line disappeared, but her face was almost blank. Jon started to pull his finger out, thinking it was causing her pain, but as soon as he did her mouth parted. Jon stilled again, waiting.

“Try that again,” Sansa whispered and Jon moved his finger the same way, causing a small keening sound to come from her parted lips.

Jon kept up a slow and shallow pace, not wanting to hurt her. After a few minutes of it though, Sansa started to move her hips in rhythm with his finger, forcing it to sink all the way in.

“ _Oh,_ ” she gasped once it did. Jon took that as permission to move faster, matching her pace.

When a frown appeared on Sansa’s face, he paused, worried.

“Why’d you stop?” she asked, eyes flying open.

“I thought I hurt you,” he whispered.

“No, you didn’t. But…can you do the other thing you do with your fingers while you do that?” she asked, sliding back into her rhythm. Jon twisted his hand until his thumb was on top and circled her clit lightly with it. “ _Yes, like that,_ ” she hummed. Jon had started to soften at the anxiety of accidentally hurting her, but that sound and the feeling of being inside her was hardening him again.

With his middle finger pressing against the inside of her and his thumb against her clit, it wasn’t long until Sansa was fisting the sheets and moaning with every other breath. Jon bent his head to her nipple, licking it as he’d done earlier and suddenly he could feel her tightening around his finger, moaning and arching off the bed.

After she recovered, Sansa dragged his boxers off and wrapped her mouth around him, bobbing, sucking, and licking until Jon saw stars and he thought he might die from how fucking good it felt.

* * *

 

Later, after they both got ready for bed and crawled beneath the sheets, Jon sat up awake, watching her sleep. He was thinking of what Sam had said earlier. _There also seems to be a trend for giving snowflake pendants. ‘Each one is unique, just like your love’ is says_. He’d hated the idea, hated it because of his name and how it forever labeled him as unloved and unwanted. Except Sansa wanted him, despite his name.

With only knowing him for a few months, she took the part of himself he hated most and made it bearable. He’d hated wearing his hoodie because it had _SNOW_ on it, but when she wore it he didn’t mind. He liked the connection it gave them. He liked how _she_ didn’t mind that she wore something with _SNOW_ on it. He liked how Sansa was proving to him that just because he was a Snow didn’t mean that he was unlovable.

He thought that maybe making her a snowflake pendent wasn’t such a stupid idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for being patient and for all the wonderful comments you guys leave. I love each and every one of you and your comments always make me smile.


	21. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get this posted last night, but I had to go to bed early since I had a meeting today, BUT that meeting got out early, so here's the chapter.
> 
> This one and the next one are going to be a little shorter, but hopefully that means I get them up faster.

“Here. Thanks, but we didn’t use it,” Sansa said, dropping the bottle of lube on Margaery’s nightstand.

“No?”

“Didn’t need it.” Margaery’s eyebrows rose and Sansa sighed, sitting on her bed. “I wasn’t sure if we would. Do you normally, for third base?” Sansa couldn’t say _fingering_ to Margaery without blushing. Margaery shrugged.

“Depends on the situation and the person. Sometimes people produce enough on their own, some people don’t. It’s safe to keep on hand though.” Margaery paused, looking at her. “Are you two talking about having sex soon?” Sansa pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

“He said he’s ready whenever I am,” she gave as an answer, holding her legs tighter.

“What about you?”

Sansa thought back to last night, to the feeling of his finger inside of her. She’d never been in a situation to even consider having someone else inside of her and until recently the idea of it seemed odd. How could someone inserting something into her feel good, or really feel anything other than intrusive?

The more she explored with Jon though, the more the idea didn’t seem as odd. She felt an aching that was more than just her clit. She wasn’t sure if it would ease the ache when she suggested it to Jon, and the idea of it had still made her a little nervous, but she trusted Jon. He’d never done anything but made her feel good.

She hadn’t expected his finger to make her feel as good as it did. It had felt a little odd initially, but that feeling had gone away as soon as they started moving. It made her excited to try the rest of it, having more of him inside her, but one finger and sex weren’t quite the same thing.

“I want to, but I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“What’re you nervous about?”

“It hurting?” Margaery nodded.

“It might, a bit, but it should feel like a stretch, not actual pain. If you work up to it well enough, you’re turned on, and use enough lube, it shouldn’t actually hurt. Jon seems like a good guy. I doubt he wouldn’t to his best to not make it hurt.” Sansa nodded now, agreeing with Margaery’s last statement. Jon would never hurt her.

“So we need lube and condoms, right?”

“You and Jon should go shopping for that together. He’ll know what size or type of condom he needs. Just make sure you get a water-based lube. It’s easier, just a little drippy.” Sansa thought she should start a list but that was a little too anal-retentive even for her.

“Thanks.” Sansa unfurled herself, standing and starting to move out of the room.

“Let me know if you have any other questions. The less nervous you are the better it’ll be.” Sansa nodded, thanking Margaery again. She did have another question, but she doubted her best friend would give a helpful answer.

_How do I ask Jon to buy condoms?_

She knew he would do it—he might turn red when she asked, but he would, only asking if she was sure. She just wasn’t sure if she could form the words. Asking him about sex yesterday had been hard enough. She wished she could just go out and buy them, like her and Margaery had with her lingerie. But she knew Margaery was right. Jon needed to buy the condoms. Her research told her that anything too small or too big could either slip off or tear from being too tight. Sansa was on birth control but she knew the condom was necessary.

* * *

 

Sansa was at Jon’s, cuddled against him in the bed. He’d worked late—said there was a project Davos put him on, and Sansa thought he looked tired. She hoped he wasn’t over working himself between school, work, and hanging out with her. She knew the other two things had to come first, come before she did, but she hated the idea of them not being able to see each other as much as they did. She barely thought it was enough as it was. She wanted to spend as much time with him as she could, to make up for all the times they didn’t since they’d met. To make up for all the times they could’ve, if Robb had introduced them sooner.

Jon yawned again and Sansa turned towards him, pausing their TV show.

“Do you work again tomorrow?” she asked softly and Jon nodded.

“But not until later. From noon to six tomorrow.”

“You look really tired.” Jon frowned, though Sansa just thought that made him look even sleepier.

“I’m not,” he mumbled.

“We don’t have to finish the episode. We can go to sleep,” she whispered, leaning up and brushing his hair back. Jon’s eyes closed at her touch, taking a beat too long to open. “See, you need your sleep.” Sansa paused the video and crawled off the bed, putting his laptop away. Jon immediately rolled to her when she slid back in. Instead of shifting so she was lying on his chest, she held her arm out, inviting him to cuddle on her chest the way she cuddled on his. Slowly, he lowered his head onto her chest, arm winding around her waist. Sansa wrapped her arms around his shoulders, angling her hand so that she could thread it through his hair. She traced the fingers of her other hand down his side, and she could feel the vibration of his hum at her touch.

Sansa felt his breath even out, felt him falling asleep, but she continued to run her hands over him gently. Even in his sleep he made little sounds as her fingers ran against his scalp and down his ribs. It almost felt better to hold him than it did to be held by him.

She loved how her touch affected him. She loved how his soft his face was when he looked at her, how gentle his hands were on her. She loved how confident he’d gotten, enough to share parts about him and Ygritte, enough to touch her without hesitation. She loved how he still blushed when she said something like _love_ and how she’d do anything to make him feel safe and cared for.

She loved him, she realized, staring down at his dark head. She was in love with him. She supposed she had been, but never realized that the warm fuzzy feeling was love. She’d never been in love, but looking at him now, she knew that must be what it was.

Sansa wanted to wake him up and tell him. Tell him _I love you Jon_. _I’m in love with you._ She thought it was important that she tell him. She couldn’t imagine him being told it often, not when he was being bounced around in different foster homes, and Ygritte, from what he said, didn’t sound like the type to have said it often. To her surprise, she felt no nerves or hesitancy about saying it to Jon. She always thought she would, but then again she never thought she’d be the first to say it either. But she knew she had to be with Jon.

The only thing stopping her from saying it in that moment was that he was asleep and how tired he’d been before. She’d have to wait until morning to tell him that she loved him.

* * *

 

Sansa woke up first and woke up early. Jon was still sound asleep, snoring softly, curled into her side. Jon was shorter than her, barely, but Sansa had never actually seen him look small before. He did then, though, tucked into her side like that. Her hand was still in his hair, meaning she must’ve fallen asleep with her fingers still running through it. She started up the motion again, thinking.

She wanted to do something nice for Jon, to accompany her telling him she loved him. She thought of breakfast in bed, but that wasn’t new. She’d attempted to make him breakfast in bed the first time she stayed over. Sansa wracked her brain, trying to thing of something she could do for him.

Something flashed in her mind then. It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but it was something.

Sansa gently detangled herself from Jon, replacing her body with a pillow. She pulled on her pants and Jon’s sweatshirt before swiping his keys off the table. She was halfway out the door before she paused and doubled back. From his desk she pulled a sticky-note and a pen, scribbling _Just gone out of a second. Be back soon. XOXO_. Just in case he woke up before she got back.

Sansa quickly walked the two blocks to the flower shop she’d seen when she drove through with Margaery on their way to the diner. They were just opening when she got there, and all of the flowers were fresh looking.

“Hi, how can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asked. Sansa wandered through the aisles of flowers, looking for something she thought Jon might like. Something she thought might brighten up the place.

“I’m telling my boyfriend that I love him and I wanted to get him flowers,” Sansa answered, uncaring that the woman’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Well, there’s always roses, but I think the unconventional situation calls for unconventional flowers.” Sansa nodded, following her as she moved across the room, talking as she did. “Before the rose, tulips were the flower that symbolized love. They signify a declaration of love. Now you can get them in red, or I have these multi-hued ones. Those symbolize a lover’s beautiful eyes. Pink symbolizes cheer and confidence and orange symbolizes happiness and desire. I think a bouquet with a sunflower or two will do the trick. Sunflowers generally mean dedication. I’m guessing that’s something you’ll want to convey?” Again, Sansa nodded. “All right, I’ll get these arranged for you. Would you like a vase?”

“Yes, please,” Sansa said, assuming Jon didn’t own a vase.

The woman bustled around, filling a simple glass vase, cutting stems and arranging the flowers until they looked just so. She wrapped a bit of twine around the vase and presented it to Sansa. She’d added a bit of greenery and baby’s breath and Sansa thought the overall effect was beautiful, let alone what the flowers actually symbolized.

Back in Jon’s apartment, Sansa set the vase on the kitchen table where it would be impossible to miss. She then quickly shed her pants and hoodie before crawling back in beside a still sleeping Jon.

As soon as she was under his arm, it tightened, pulling her closer. Sansa snuggled in closer to him, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of holding someone she loved.

Sansa had must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Jon was propped above her, his fingers tracing patterns on her arm.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked, voice still gruff with sleep. Sansa shook her head, pulling herself up to kiss him.

“I’ll be right back. Bathroom,” she murmured, kissing his cheek before sliding her legs out. She purposefully left the bedroom door open, hoping Jon might spot the bright colors on the table. When she came out, she found that she was right, because Jon was no longer in bed. He was standing in the kitchen, staring at the bouquet that had seemingly appeared over night. He must’ve heard her come out, because he turned, looking at her questioningly.

“Sansa, did you…?” he trailed off, gesturing helplessly to the vase.

“I woke up early,” she shrugged. Jon extended a hand, stopping just short of one of the tulips.

“You got me flowers,” he said slowly.

“The sunflowers mean dedication, and the colors of the tulips mean different things. Pink means cheer and confidence, orange means happiness and desire. Multicolored tulips symbolize a lover’s beautiful eyes. Tulips are meant to show a declaration of love,” she recited, the way she’d rehearsed it all the way home. Jon’s whole body turned towards her after her last sentence, but it wasn’t the relaxed stance she’d thought he’d have. He looked like he was being pulled taut, like a bowstring. Sansa couldn’t believe how guarded his eyes looked.

“Sansa, are you…” Jon stopped again, closing his mouth. She could see his jaw working even under his beard.

“I’m saying I love you, Jon. I’m in love with you. I know it’s early to be saying it, but as soon as I realized that’s what I felt, I needed to tell you. I love you,” she said again. She thought he would look relieved or joyous, but his body looked even more rigid, if that was possible.

Jon took two steps towards her, closing the space between them. He was close enough to touch, but Sansa wasn’t sure if that was what he needed in the moment.

“You’re saying you… you love me,” he repeated slowly, voice lower and Northern accent thicker than she’d ever heard it. His eyes were wide, guard broken down. He looked confused, like he couldn’t understand why she was saying that. There was something else deep in his eyes too. Sansa thought it looked a little like fear.

“Yes, Jon Snow, I am saying that I love you.” A small smile tugged up a corner of her mouth before Jon’s was crashing against hers, his arms braced tightly against her back.

“You love me.” The surprise and disbelief in his voice killed her, but Sansa just stared into his eyes, forehead pressed against hers, and said it again.

“I love you.” He kissed her again, this time more softly and gently than the wild need he’d kissed her with before.

Sansa gasped when he broke away sharply.

“I love you too,” he offered, voice little more than an exhale. Sansa reached up, her hand brushing back a curl, before leaning forward and kissing him again. Him saying it back to her warmed her, but she knew it was probably nothing compared to what her words meant to him.

* * *

 

“Hey, I’ve just gotten off the phone with Mum,” Robb said by way of greeting when Sansa answered Sunday afternoon.

“Yeah, I spoke with her the morning. She said she and Arya would get here Friday afternoon.”

“She was planning on going out to dinner for your birthday on Saturday and asked that I make the reservations. She was confused when I said for six. She’d thought it’d be the four of us and Jeyne.” Sansa opened her mouth but she had nothing to say. “Sansa, you haven’t told them you and Jon are dating, have you?”

“Erm, no. No I haven’t, not yet. I was going to tell Mum in person. And I thought Jon could tell Arya. She responds better to him,” Sansa answered, though that wasn’t entirely true. She’d been so swept up in Jon, in dating him, exploring with him, that she’d completely forgotten that Catelyn and Arya would be there soon. Sansa wished her father and brothers were the ones coming down. They’d handle the news better.

“So you do plan on telling them? You’re not going to keep him a secret?”

“Of course not, Robb! Make the reservation for six. I’ll tell Mum as soon as she gets here on Friday.” She heard him sigh over the phone and Sansa started biting her thumbnail.

“You need to tell Arya yourself, by the way. Don’t push that off on Jon.” This time Sansa sighed.

“All right. I will.”

“Sansa, I meant what I said before. You can’t do this if you’re going to end up hurting him. If you’re keeping from Mum because you’re embarrassed or…”

“Robb, I’m not, I swear. I’m in love with Jon. I’d never hurt him.” There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Have you told him?”

“Yeah. I did, yesterday.”

“Good, that’s good. I’m glad. Lead with that when you tell Arya and Mum. See you this weekend.” Sansa agreed before hanging up.

She leaned back once she set the phone down, rubbing her hands over her face. Telling Catelyn and Arya that she was dating Jon would be hard, but she could do it. For Jon, she could do it.


	22. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right so this chapter ended up being a little longer than I expected it to be, but I still got it posted today! 
> 
> I should have the next one up Friday (hopefully, but I have no plans this weekend, so here's hoping.)

Jon was working late again, but not on cars. Davos had been helping him make the snowflake pendent for Sansa. Davos had looked at him with slight confusion when Jon told him what he wanted to make, and Jon thought it might be because Davos knew he hated wearing the hoodie with _SNOW_ on the back, anything with his last name on it really, but Jon didn’t want to explain it to him. How loved she made him feel.

He thought of the flowers she’d gotten him, the way she said _Yes, Jon Snow, I am saying that I love you._ No one had told him that in that way before. Ygritte told him she loved him, but it was always after he said it first, and it was always a _love you too_. He had thought he felt loved then, but that hadn’t felt anything like how he did when Sansa said it. He was thrilled, he was surprised, he was afraid. He was thrilled that Sansa felt the same way about him that he felt about her, but he was surprised that she did. He never thought anyone as good and lovely as her would fall in love with someone like him. He was afraid of someone like her being in love with him, of what it would mean. He didn’t know how to be loved.

Jon was nearly done with the pendent and he actually liked how it was coming out. He’d used a piece of dark colored steel he found one of their scrap boxes. It was easy to cut and mold, but it also looked nice. He thought it would be a good contrast to her fair skin and to the bright silver bird necklace she usually wore. The snowflake he designed was simple, almost cartoonish really, but it worked. It was clearly a snowflake and that was all that mattered. He just hoped she liked it.

“When did you say Sansa’s birthday was again?” Edd asked as Jon started packing up his stuff. Jon turned his head slowly toward him, confused.

“Saturday. Why?”

“The lads and I were thinking of getting her something, from us. Would you give it to her for us?”

“You’re all getting her something?” Edd shrugged, almost looking embarrassed Jon thought, though that wouldn’t make any sense. He’d never seen Edd embarrassed.

“Would that be all right?” Jon opened his mouth, honestly not sure how he felt about them giving her a gift, but he knew it was probably something innocent. Sam wouldn’t let them do anything stupid.

“Yeah. Yeah I can give it to her.”

“Thanks. Are you off to see her then?” Jon shook his head.

“Not tonight.”

“Well, next time you see her tell her we all say hi.”

“I will.” Jon put the pendent in the box he’d been keeping it in and put it on his workstation, out of the way of everything else.

Jon walked home, curious about what the lads were thinking of getting her. He was more curious as to why they were getting her something at all. He knew they liked her and Sansa had become friends with them. Whenever she came she would ask about specific things going on in their lives. She would ask Pyp about his little cousins he was trying to help take care of, ask Sam about his younger sisters. She gave Grenn advice about the woman he had started to fall for, enough so that he actually managed to ask her out on a date. She talked to Edd about his sick mother and often reassured him.

He thought a small part of all of them was in love with her, because they were all men like him. Men whose lives haven’t been full of affection or gentle women with good hearts. They weren’t all foundlings or foster kids, but none of them grew up in happy houses like Sansa did. Her brightness, her grace, her kind smile was something new to everyone at the shop and he couldn’t blame them. It was impossible not to love Sansa.

* * *

 

Once he was home, Jon immediately went to the vase on his table. The flowers hadn’t started to wilt yet. Every time he saw their vibrant colors he was reminded of Sansa, of her brightness, her beauty, her voice when she said _I love you._ He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fallen asleep hearing her say it again and again in his head. The words warmed him, wrapped him up, and made him feel whole.

Jon reached out a hand, fingers just shy of one of the tulips. He had no idea flowers could mean so many different things. He hadn’t realized how beautiful flowers were either. He’d never really been around them. Group homes and orphanages weren’t really the place for beautiful things, especially flowers, and especially in the North. Foster homes didn’t usually have them either—he thought he remembered there being maybe one home with them, but he thought they were plastic flowers, and those weren’t really the same thing. Real flowers were different and it was another thing entirely to be given flowers.

Jon started his dinner, still thinking of the flowers. It was as if he had a bit of Sansa in the apartment with him, even when she wasn’t there. As if she knew he was thinking of her, his phone buzzed, a picture of them flashing. He swiped the text open with his pinky, leaning over slightly to read it.

_Mind if I stop by?_

**Never.**

Sansa sent a smiley face.

 _Be there in a few minutes_.

Jon continued cooking while waiting for her to buzz his intercom. He was curious as to why she was stopping by. They’d had no plans to meet and if she missed him she would’ve just showed up at his apartment, like she’d done before. She was stopping by _for_ something and Jon wasn’t sure if he was feeling anticipation or anxiety.

Sansa arrived a few minutes later, before Jon was able to detangle any of his thoughts or feelings about her needing to stop by. He thought seeing her face would help—let him know if this was something serious or something playful, but for the first time Sansa had something resembling a guard up. She still flashed a smile but Jon saw how it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“So, I, erm. I wanted to talk to you about something. A few things, actually,” she started, voice soft. She was perched on the edge of his sofa, curled into herself, unlike how she was typically curled into him. For one of the first times since they started dating, there was space between them.

Jon knew what he was feeling now was definitely anxiety.

“All right,” he said anyway, trying not to let his voice betray how fearful he was.

“I just got… Ro—em. Do you think I’ll hurt you, Jon?” she asked at last, looking at her lap and picking at something on her leggings. Jon’s heart constricted and blood pounded in his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was the answer to the question, the question itself or the pain in her voice when she asked it that caused his body to pump with adrenaline.

Had she asked that question when they first met, a few months ago, or even a few weeks ago, he would’ve had a different answer. He would’ve said _only if I let myself get too close_ or _you wouldn’t be the first_ or maybe even _you’re a redheaded woman, of course I think you’ll hurt me. Ygritte did, in leaving him. Lysa did, in keeping Jeor from adopting him._

That wasn’t what he felt now though. He knew Sansa would never intentionally hurt him, just as he would never intentionally hurt her.

“No,” he said slowly. “No, I don’t think you’ll hurt me.” _And even if you do, it’ll be worth it._ “Why?” he added after a beat of Sansa still not quite meeting his eyes, though she did offer a weak smile at his answer.

“It’s nothing. It’s just something stupid someone said.” Even though she still looked closed off, Jon shifted closer on the sofa, close enough that they could be touching if they wanted to be.

“Who? One of your roommates?” He couldn’t really imagine any of them saying that, or really anyone saying that about Sansa. He doubted she could purposefully hurt anyone, and even if she accidentally did, she would feel terrible about it. He also doubted any of her roommates cared enough about him to worry about Sansa hurting him.

Sansa shook her head. She looked as though she wanted to cry, but nothing was coming out. Like she’d pushed everything so far down that she only felt a dull version of the emotion. Jon knew that feeling well—he’d grown up feeling that way, but seeing it on Sansa hurt him.

“Not one of the guys at the shop…?” Jon asked slowly. He could imagine them saying something like that when he first started talking about her, but not now. Not after they’d gotten to know her; not after they’d seen them together.

Sansa let out a soft almost laugh at that, her eyes meeting his for a second.

“No, no, they’re all sweethearts. It was actually Robb?” she admitted, turning her eyes away again.

Something flared in Jon. At first he thought it was the feeling of someone looking out for him, the feeling of Robb putting him first, but then he realized his adrenaline had kicked up again. If he was feeling protected, his instinct to fight or flee wouldn’t have blazed through him.

Jon wasn’t feeling protect _ed_. He was feeling protect _ive._ Of Sansa.

“Robb? He thinks you’re going to hurt me?” He couldn’t mask the incredulousness in his voice. Sansa rolled her eyes, chuckling bitterly.

“Apparently. He warned me the first time and I understood that, but now he’s up in arms because I haven’t told anyone about us yet like I’m doing it intentionally? Like I’m ashamed of you or something,” she muttered.

Jon wasn’t sure what to process first. That Robb had repeatedly warned Sansa not to hurt him. That Robb thinks Sansa’s ashamed of him. That she hadn’t told her family yet—or that this was something she was expected to tell her family.

Sansa mistook his quietness though, and her hand was suddenly on his leg, her other guiding his face to hers.

“I promise I’m not ashamed of you,” she whispered intently, as though that had been what he was stuck on. He felt a grin tugging up the side of his mouth and her face softened because of it.

“I know, Sansa. It’s all right. I know.” Jon paused, running a hand through her wavy hair. “Why does Robb care if you’ve told your family, though?” he asked, confused. He didn’t see any point in telling them unless it was necessary.

“Because Robb likes to stick his nose in my business and thinks he knows more than me,” she mumbled into her lap. “Because Mum and Arya will be here on Friday. They’re doing a tour of the campus and staying for spring break.” Jon fought to keep his face in check but he was sure she could see his surprise.

Of all the Starks coming south, he doubted either of them would be the ones to respond well to he and Sansa dating. He didn’t know why Arya responded to Sansa the way she did, but he didn’t think she’d be thrilled. Catelyn would be worse. He had no idea why she didn’t like him, but if she barely tolerated him as Robb’s friend, he could only guess how she’d react to him being Sansa’s boyfriend.

“Oh,” he uttered at last. She nodded slowly. “Do you want to tell them?” he asked slowly. Sansa opened her mouth, but bit her lip instead of answering.

“I’m not doing anything you aren’t comfortable with. I’m not trying to keep you a secret.” Jon pulled her into his lap finally, wrapping his arms around her and wanting her to feel as warm and safe and loved as he did every time she did it to him.

“I know you’re not. But… I don’t… I don’t know how I feel about telling your mum. Can I think about it and let you know?” he posed, pushing his nose into her hair. He could feel her nodding.

“Will you come to dinner with us though, on Saturday? It’s my birthday,” she admitted, cheeks pink.

“I know. Robb told me.” She looked up so sharply that Jon couldn’t help his smirk at her surprise.

“Well then,” she muttered, face relaxing for the first time Jon had seen that day.

“Was that what you came over for?” Suddenly Sansa’s face was bright red.

“Part of it. The, em, the other thing, is… We should, erm, talk about getting condoms? And lube? So we’re prepared?” Jon suddenly wished Sansa wasn’t sitting on his lap.

“I, er. I have condoms already. From…erm, from before.” He was sure he was the same color as her now.

“All right. Do… do you have a preference for lube?” Jon couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He shook his head.

“You can get whatever you want,” he said, his voice lower than he expected it to be, his desire coming out that way. Sansa’s bright blush had faded but hadn’t fully disappeared. He kissed her cheek, enjoying the way her face scrunched up when he did it. 

* * *

 

**Meet me at class a little early?**

Jon was texting Robb the next day, adrenaline still slightly higher than normal.

 _Sure_.

He was thankful to Robb for trying to look out for him, but there was a difference between looking out for him and not believing Sansa was good for him. He needed Robb to know that Sansa was the best thing that ever happened to him, and whatever pain she might bring would be worth it for what he was feeling now.

Robb met him outside the lecture hall fifteen minutes before class actually started. Jon didn’t really want to do this in front of people but he also didn’t want to do it over the phone or via text. And inviting Robb over just to tell him to layoff Sansa didn’t seem like the best idea.

“What’s up?” Robb asked, looking concerned. He and Sansa had the same concerned face.

“Sansa told me your mum and sister are coming down for spring break?” Jon started, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder before gripping both straps. Robb nodded, his frown deepening slightly. “And Sansa hasn’t told them about us yet.” Robb’s face relaxed and he reached out, clapping a hand on Jon’s arm.

“Don’t worry, she promised she’d tell them when they get here.” Robb’s face told Jon that was meant to reassure him, but it didn’t. He didn’t need Robb trying to protect him. Jon would’ve never fallen in love if he never wanted get hurt again.

“I appreciate it, Robb, I do, but don’t pressure Sansa, all right? Neither of us are ready to tell your family yet.” Robb’s smile faltered slightly.

“Are you sure? Sansa’s not trying t—” Jon scowled, cutting him off.

“No. And whatever you think about her hurting me, she wouldn’t. She—” _Makes me feel warm. Feel safe. Feel welcomed. Feel loved. Feel whole. Feel like I belong somewhere. She makes me feel like I’m home._ “She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a home, all right?” Jon saw the Stark stubbornness in Robb’s eyes crumble.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I… I guess I just didn’t realize how serious you two are. Sansa’s never been serious about anyone before.” Jon thought that there was a part of that sentence that was going unsaid. Robb must’ve been able to see that in Jon’s face, because he started speaking again. “I’m glad it’s you. I know you’d never hurt her either.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.” They exchanged somewhat awkward smiles then, heading into the lecture hall.

They took their normal seats next to each other, pulling out their notes. Jon was going to text Sansa to tell her that he’d talked to Robb about his overprotectiveness, but Robb spoke again, before class actually started.

“If you and Sansa don’t want to tell Mum and Arya yet, that’s fine. I understand and I won’t tell them either. But you don’t have anything to worry about. Not once Mum sees the way you look at her. She’ll understand.”

Jon nodded, though he didn’t believe it. He thought maybe he would if he had a different past. If he hadn’t been a foundling with no family, no mother. If girls hadn’t thought him strange and quiet in high school, or if he had stayed in a high school long enough for a girl to realize that he wasn’t that strange and quiet wasn’t that bad.

He thought it might also be different if Catelyn didn’t look so much like Lysa, Jeor’s daughter-in-law. The one who had stopped Jeor from adopting him, even after Jeor had actually started the paperwork. She’d called him an _unwanted little bastard._ Said he was a parasite. That he’d suck Jeor’s time, strength, life, and money away. All of which could have—should have—gone to an actual grandchild, not some nameless foundling he’d swooped up from the orphanage. Jeor had fought her on it, until she said she was pregnant with an actual biological grandchild for him.

It wasn’t long after that that Jon had been shuttled back to the group home, thirteen and one of the oldest ones there.

Jon had to push all of that from his mind though. There was no use dwelling on things he couldn’t change. Especially when he could think about Sansa instead. Sansa, who was giving him everything he never had. Everything he never dreamed of wanting. Sansa, who gave him a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this fic, Lysa and Catelyn are NOT sisters. I'm substituting Lysa Tully and Lynesse Hightower, the second wife of Jorah Mormont.


	23. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than anticipated. Blame my brother.

Sansa smiled down at the text she’d gotten from Jon, the one saying he’d talked to Robb for her and Robb was going to stop interfering in their relationship. She hadn’t asked him to do it. Hadn’t expected him to, but she loved the fact that he did. That he was being protective of her, even if it was her brother. Sansa also loved the fact that he hadn’t gone all old world about it—it wasn’t some big, grand show of protection. It was just an _I talked to Robb. He agreed to butt out._ And a text from Robb apologizing for his comments and his lack of faith in her. Sansa found that reassuring. They would need everyone on their side they could to convince Mum and Arya that their relationship was a good thing.

Sansa shoved her phone in her bag before pulling out her portfolio and walking up to the woman at the reception desk of the art building.

“Hi, I’m here to submit my pieces for the sophomore life drawing class showcase next week,” she said, her voice automatically going to the one she used with adults and making her sound younger than she liked.

“Right, this way. There should be someone back there to help you choose frames and arrange them. They’ll do all the work. Stop by on your way out to pick up your tickets,” she instructed, leaving Sansa in a large room with a lot of walls. Some had artwork already hung and some were still blank. She didn’t see anyone, so she started looking for the section of wall with her name on it.

“Sansa, hi. Have you come to submit your pieces?” her professor asked, emerging from behind one of the walls. Sansa nodded. “You’re right over here. Let’s get you set up.” Sansa followed quietly behind. “So let’s see what you’ve decided on.” Sansa nodded, setting down her portfolio and allowing her professor to go through the ones she’d picked.

Sansa had settled on nine sketches. Three of Jon’s hands, three of his mouth, and three of his eyes. Her professor leafed through them quickly, a small smile twitching.

“You’re bringing this man to the showcase, yes?”

“H-how’d you know?” Sansa stammered.

“I can tell in the way you captured him that he means a lot to you. This isn’t some model you’ve drawn. It’s someone real, someone you care about.”

“Yeah, yeah, he is.” Her professor glanced over at Sansa, face soft.

“I remember those days. Have you thought about framing?”

Sansa and her professor picked out frames and how to arrange them quickly, agreeing that something simple would best showcase her sketches.

“Sansa,” her professor called on her way out. Sansa turned. “Introduce me to your muse at the showcase. I’d like to meet the man that inspires such art.” Sansa nodded, agreeing, a grin taking up her face.

“How many tickets will you be needing?”

“Five.” Arya may not enjoy a life drawing showcase, but she could tolerate it for an hour or so, especially if Jon was there, Sansa figured. Plus, it was her first one and the week of her birthday. Arya could go as a gift to her.

* * *

 

Sansa was ready. She’d been going to Jon’s nearly every night, even when one of them had to wake up early, and they had continued exploring. She was getting use to his fingers, used to something being inside her, and the idea of actually having him inside of her excited Sansa. She was excited to feel what it would be like, but she was also excited because it was Jon and she wanted to experience this with him.

She knew Jon thought she was waiting for something specific—an anniversary or her birthday—something to give them a reason to take the next step, but it wasn’t that at all. She wanted to get used to the idea, but she also wanted to experience everything she could with him before taking the final leap. At this point, she wasn’t waiting for anything.

Sansa arbitrarily decided it would be Thursday. Jon didn’t work this Friday and neither of them had classes that day, so they could sleep in and spend the day lazing around together, before Arya and Catelyn showed up. Sansa knew it either had to happen before they came to KLU or wait until after. She wanted both of them to be focused on the moment and not worrying about anything else.

Margaery helped Sansa arrange for them to have the house to themselves. She bought Dany a very early birthday present—a long spa weekend for two. Sansa didn’t think for a second that Drogo would go for that, but all it took was one look from Dany and he was saying that they could use the quiet time. Loras and his roommate were both planning on going home for spring break anyway, and Margaery promised she’d be fine—she’d definitely find someplace to spend the night, or weekend if needed.

Margaery also helped Sansa arrange her room. She washed the sheets—though Margaery said she’d probably want to do it after too—and placed loaned candles from both Margaery and Dany all around her surface areas. Margaery jokingly asked if Sansa wanted to get rose petals for the bedspread, and Sansa laughed, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t so much that she wanted her first time to be special. It was more that she wanted her first time with Jon to be special.

Wednesday night she texted Jon with Margaery leaning over her shoulder, helping her.

_Come over Thursday night? We’ll have the house to ourselves._

“Send a winky face with it,” Margaery instructed.

“What? No.”

“Well, you’ve got to send something with it to show what you’re planning.”

“He knows.”

“Are you sure? I mean, Jon’s great, but he’s still a guy…”

**All right.**

Margaery chuckled beside her.

“Is that any different than how he normally responds?”

“No,” Sansa said, sounding sulky.

“Tell him to come prepared.”

“ _That’ll_ make the difference? _Come prepared_?”

“With a winky face.”

“Fine,” Sansa huffed.

 _Come prepared_.

She sent it with a winky face, like Margaery suggested. Jon’s reply was almost instantaneous.

**Are you sure?**

_Very._

**I’ll be there soon as I’m out of class.**

_Can’t wait. See you tomorrow. I love you._

**I love you too.**

* * *

 

All Thursday Sansa was unable to focus. She spent the three hours of class she had watching the clock tick down, and even once she was home she was just trying to fill the time until Jon was out of class. As her roommates left, they asked if she was all right, and Sansa assured them that she was. She was just twitchy from the amount of sugar she’d had, celebrating the start of spring break, nothing else.

When Margaery left with an overnight bag and an extremely revealing dress, she gave Sansa a quick hug.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. But do everything I _would_ do,” she giggled. Sansa rolled her eyes but thanked her for the advice anyway. “I’m serious. If you need the weekend, I can find someplace to stay, but you’re telling me every detail afterwards. I wanna know every nitty gritty little detail.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“Text me when it’s safe to come back. And I’ve left some stuff on the bathroom counter for you. Have fun,” she called, twirling her fingers before descending the stairs.

Once the door shut behind her best friend, Sansa was alone in the house for one of the first times. She found the quiet eerie so she hooked up her phone to the speaker system that ran through the main floor before collecting the bra and underwear she’d bought with Margaery and heading for the shower.

On the counter of the bathroom were several lotions and body scrubs, in addition to Margaery’s green silk robe. Sansa spent a considerable amount of time smelling the different bottles and tubes before deciding on a body scrub and a body cream that promised to make her skin feel like velvet.

She took a long, hot shower, washing her hair with the shampoo she knew Jon liked, shaving until her legs were smooth, scrubbing her body with soap and scrub before stepping out to dry off.

Wiping condensation from the mirror, Sansa stood naked in front of it, taking in her body. Jon had seen her naked before, but this would be different. Sansa wasn’t displeased with what she saw, and she thought Jon wouldn’t be either. At least she hoped he wouldn’t be.

After she was dry, she used Margaery’s body cream to make her skin as soft as possible before pulling on her new bra and underwear, the black slip going over it. Sansa blow-dried her hair so that it was only slightly damp and had a natural looking wave before pulling on Margaery’s robe and returning to her room.

She briefly considered that she was putting on an awful lot of layers just to take them all off, but she liked the way they made her feel. Sexy. Confident. Older, more experienced. Plus, she really wanted to see Jon’s face when he saw her in each of the layers. For as guarded as Jon was, he could never hide his love or his desire when he looked at her in their moments of intimacy.

Sansa had started applying make up when her phone lit up with a text from Jon.

**Prof let us out a little early. Be there soon.**

Sansa giggled when she saw that he’d sent a smiley face with it.

She hurried through her make up then, just applying foundation, mascara, and a bit of a shimmery gold eye shadow to her eyelids. It wasn’t quite what she’d had in mind, but she thought the natural look was actually better than what she’d had planned. She didn’t want her eyeliner turning her into a raccoon if she got sweaty.

Sansa spent the last few minutes before she thought Jon would be there lighting the candles in her room until it was full of a romantic, firelight glow, and changing the playlist on her phone to acoustic love songs.

Sansa was standing near the window that faced campus, telling herself she wasn’t watching for Jon, but as soon as she saw a dark figure on the sidewalk a few houses down, she was racing down the stairs and had opened the door before he’d even reached the front walk.

“Hi,” she called, voice high with excitement and with nerves. The excitement outweighed the nerves, though that didn’t fully come across in her voice.

“H-hi, Sansa,” he stuttered, his eyes traveling slowly over her frame. “You look…wow.” Jon’s voice was gruffer than she’d heard it aside from early mornings and he wasn’t even in the house yet.

“Thanks,” she grinned, reaching out a hand to pull him in and lead him up the stairs. “Are you hungry?” she asked, once they were in the kitchen. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No, no. I ate something on break.” His voice was still husky and his hands hovered over her.

“Should we go to bed, then?” she whispered, leaning in, bumping her nose lightly against his, getting just close enough to kiss him but not. He nodded quickly.

Sansa kissed him then, allowing him to walk her backwards into her room, but he broke the kiss as soon as they crossed into it.

“I…wow. You did all of this?” Jon asked, eyes wide as he looked around at the candles.

“I wanted _our_ first time to be special,” she shrugged, making sure to emphasize the _our_. She didn’t care so much that it was her first time—she trusted Jon to make it as good as he could—but she wanted him to know that she cared that it was their first time together. She wanted him to know it was special because it would be with him, not because it was her first time in general.

His eyes returned to hers, widened with that emotion that he could never quite actually mask. She kissed him before he could say anything.

Jon continued walking her back towards the bed, but Sansa stopped them, turning so that he was the one bumping into the bed. He sat on the edge and Sansa stood between his legs as he stared up at her, curls wild and in his darkened eyes, mouth slightly agape. She slowly tugged at the sash of the robe, letting it flood down her body and pool at her feet. Sansa thought she heard Jon’s intake of breath at her slip.

“New dress?” His voice was low, deep, and Northern as hell.

“Do you like it?” she asked, her voice lilting up with a flirty tone. She giggled with anticipation at the way Jon opened his mouth, searching for words.

“I-I’d like better off you,” he grumbled and Sansa held her arms out, stepping back, inviting him. He didn’t reach for her though, when he stood. He pulled his own shirt off and started on his belt, but Sansa pushed his hands away, wanting to do it herself.

Once he stepped out, his hands were on her, running up her thighs, under the slip to her back and down again. He was kissing her neck, across her shoulders, nosing the straps of the slip down before he hastily yanked it off of her, and paused again, looking at her new underwear. Sansa reached out a hand, running her fingers from his chest down to the waistline of his boxers, bringing him back to her.

Jon kissed her hungrily, eagerly, hands hot on her back, her shoulders, her hips, her thighs. She allowed him to back her onto the bed, loving the way with one arm he was able to haul her up so her head was on the pillows.

He hovered over her, only a small amount of his weight pushing down on her. They were rolling their hips together, Jon’s hands in her hair, and her teeth nibbling on his earlobe.

Every time their hips rolled just right, a sigh would escape Sansa’s lips, going straight into Jon’s ear and he would groan in response. She felt each of his groans travel through her.

Sansa opened her eyes when Jon pushed himself up, perching on her hips. He was staring at her again, his fingers slowly tracing her collarbones outwards, pushing her bra straps down. Sansa arched her back so that his hand could snake under her and unclasp it. She bit her lip to keep from giggling when it took him several tries, but was impressed when he managed it one handed.

Her smile turned into a moan when his mouth began to work against one nipple, his thumb the other. She wound her fingers into his hair as he moved lower, kissing and licking her chest, stomach, and hips. He kissed her through her underwear, breathing hot air onto her and sending shivers running up her spine.

His fingers were slow as he dragged her underwear down, but his mouth was even slower as he worked it back up her legs to her clit.

She thought his tongue against her would be something she’d get used to, but she had yet to reach that point. Every motion of his tongue sent ripples of pleasure through her, stealing her breath.

She moaned when she felt him slowly start to slide a finger into her, his tongue still moving against her clit, slow enough to keep her orgasm at bay. With the addition of his finger though, she wasn’t so sure the slow pace was actually doing what it was meant to.

“Jon,” she gasped, pulling at his arms to stop him. He climbed back up to hover over her, kissing her carefully, but Sansa pulled him down, not caring that his mouth would taste like her. While she kissed him, she started tugging his boxers down, purposefully grazing her knuckles against his hardness as she did. He groaned into her mouth.

Jon broke apart to kick off his boxers and fish the condom from his pants pocket. Sansa saw him pause before opening it.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, studying her face. Sansa pushed herself off the pillows, one hand supporting her and the other threading through the curls that were damp at the back of his neck. She pulled his head to hers, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m sure, Jon. I want this. I want this _with you_.” He nodded slowly, giving her a tender kiss before leaning back and ripping open the condom wrapper. Sansa leaned over to the nightstand, pulling out the bottle of lube she’d bought with Margaery and passing it to Jon.

Sansa’s leg jerked when she felt something cold drip onto her thigh. Jon’s eyes flew to her, his concern obvious.

“It’s all right. Just cold,” she giggled, wiping it away. She ran her hands over his thighs, watching as he closed his eyes.

“Ready?” he murmured, moving the lube off the bed. Sansa nodded, suddenly nervous. She thought Jon must’ve seen this as he bent to kiss her, a finger gently circling her clit and relaxing her again.

When Jon pulled away, Sansa let her knees fall apart all the way, giving room for Jon to come between them. She watched him angle himself, felt him where she’d felt his fingers before. Jon’s eyes anxiously searched her face and she nodded, her hands resting on his biceps.

She closed her eyes though, when she felt him start to push in, inhaling through her nose. Jon stopped.

“I’m all right, just go slow.” He nodded, looking apprehensive.

Each time Sansa closed her eyes, she felt Jon pause, waiting for her to grow accustomed to the feeling before he pushed farther in, until she felt his hips against hers.

She thought fleetingly that Margaery was right—it did feel like a stretch more than anything else. She was surprised though, at how different it felt from his fingers. At how much he filled her.

Sansa opened her eyes to find Jon staring at her, brow creased. She nodded, her hands slowly stroking up his back, encouraging him to move.

Jon moved slowly, cautiously, his eyes not leaving her face. She’d had her legs at an odd angle though, and when she adjusted them, balancing her feet on the back of Jon’s calves, Jon gasped, sinking in farther.

On his next thrust, Sansa moaned, feeling him hit whatever it was he’d hit with her fingers to bring her to orgasm.

“Oh, like that,” she murmured. Jon paused, raising himself up further to look at her face. He did it again, but this time his pelvis pressed against her clit as well.

“Like that?” he whispered and she nodded, eyes closed and biting her lip. Jon started kissing her neck and collarbone then, and Sansa couldn’t contain her gasps and moans. She rolled her head against his and moaned directly into his ear. She felt his shuttering breath on her bare skin, raising goosebumps.

“Can I move your leg?” he breathed, strokes still slow. Sansa nodded, feeling his hand grip under her thigh and hitching it up on his hip.

“Seven hells, Jon,” she cried, clutching at his back. He did it again, moving just a little faster. Every other breath that left Sansa was a moan. “Oh, Jon, I’m—” she started, locking her other leg around his hip and arching her back just slightly.

Sansa felt the tightening in her pelvis, eyes squeezed tight enough that she was seeing bursts of light and her toes curled against Jon’s back. She felt Jon’s pace start to quicken even as she pressed her mouth into his shoulder to muffle her cry of pleasure. Jon’s face was near her ear and she heard his whimpers as his hips jerkily slowed down again.

There was a pause, quiet aside from both of their panting, before Jon slid out of her.

“’M gonna go clean up,” he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead before heading for the bathroom. Sansa lay motionless on the bed, body still boneless. She knew she’d have to get up in a moment, use the bathroom, wash the make up from her face, brush her teeth, but really all she wanted to do was wait until Jon was back and curl her bare body around his.

* * *

 

“Was it all right…? I didn’t hurt you at all?” Jon asked after all of the technicalities of sex had been taken care off and all the candles blown out, save for the one Arya had given her.

“No, no, not at all. It was perfect, Jon,” she whispered, running her hand from his temple to the ends of his hair. His eyes closed and a corner of his mouth twitched up before he pulled her closer.

She’d pulled on her underwear after using the bathroom, as had Jon, but she didn’t bother with a shirt or her slip. She wanted to continue to feel as much of Jon on her as she could, even if it was just cuddling. Plus, she could tell Jon enjoyed it too, with the way he kept their chests flushed and his hands never stilled—running up her thigh, her arm, her back.

“Was it all right for you?” she asked after a beat and Jon’s hand hesitated on her arm.

“Best I’d ever—” he started, but stopped suddenly. Sansa pushed herself up so that she could see his face.

“Really?” she asked, unable to control both the grin and the blush. Jon’s eyes wee soft—that look he had when she said _I love you_.

“I never believed what they said before about… about it being different— _better_ —when it’s with someone you love.” Sansa felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She leaned down, kissing him once before nuzzling her face in his shoulder.

“I love you, Jon.” His arms were tight around her back, holding her as close as he could.

“I love you too, Sansa.”

* * *

 

Sansa and Jon spent most of the next day in constant contact. Something was always touching—their hands, their legs, chest to back, sides pressed together.

After breakfast, Sansa dragged Jon into the shower with her, not really thinking of anything other than not wanting to be apart long enough for them to shower separately, but the feel of their bodies slick against each other had them out of the shower and back on the bed before either of them had gotten fully clean.

Sansa didn’t think about anything other than Jon until mid afternoon, when she got a text from Arya saying they’d just reached the city and would head over after they’d checked into their hotel. Sansa sent her address in response. She figured she and Jon had plenty of time until her family showed up, so they snuggled up together on the couch—Sansa in leggings and his hoodie, Jon in sweats and a t-shirt—to watch an episode of their TV show.

They were almost to the end of the episode when she heard the doorbell.

“Margaery must’ve forgotten her keys. Or she thinks we’re having sex on the kitchen table or something,” she joked, heading for the stairs. She giggled at Jon’s blush.

Margaery wasn’t the one ringing the doorbell though.

Sansa opened the door to see her mother and her sister, one looking excited, the other exasperated, both of them holding balls of fluff.

“What the he—” Sansa cut herself off, swinging the door open for them to come in. “I thought you wouldn’t be here for a bit yet,” she hedged.

“Ask your sister,” Catelyn said, voice tired. Sansa glanced from her sister to the fluff balls.

“They _needed_ to be saved, Mum.” Arya started for the stairs then and Sansa reached for the one Catelyn had.

The puppies looked like they belonged much farther north than KLU. Sansa’s mind flashed back to when she was younger and her father had come home with puppies, sounding exactly as Arya had. The puppies weren’t the same type—the ones they’d had as children were shorthaired, similar to the type that used to be used for royal hunting parties, but Catelyn no doubt only saw more strays.

Sansa hugged the gray and white pup to her chest and warily followed her mother and sister up the stairs, trying to think of a logical reason for Jon being at her place when no one else was there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right I had to have Sansa wearing the slip because of the whole dress thing Jon has and I thought this was close.


	24. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I really wanted to get it posted tonight, so the birthday dinner will be from Sansa's Pov

As soon as Jon heard the footsteps on the stairs and the lack of bawdy laughter he knew it wasn’t Margaery. He stood quickly, coming around to stand in the kitchen.

They didn’t have a plan for this. He was going to head out before Arya and Catelyn got there. They weren’t planning on telling them yet. He and Sansa decided they’d tell them after dinner tomorrow, or sometime this week. Sansa was willing to tell them whenever Jon wanted, and he didn’t want to spring it on them as soon as they arrived at KLU. He thought that would cast a negative tone over the whole visit for them, and he didn’t want that.

Jon had wanted time to mentally prepare himself to watch Catelyn Stark’s reaction when they said they were dating, but given the sounds coming up the stairs, he didn’t have any time.

“Jon?” Arya was the first one into the kitchen. She released whatever was in her arms onto the floor and ran to hug him. Jon hugged her back, thankful that she was glad to see him. “What’re you doing here?” she asked, once they’d released each other. Jon’s eyes flew to Sansa’s, who was standing behind her mother. She must’ve been able to see the panic in his eyes—been able to see that he wasn’t ready yet, because she came around to stand near him and Arya.

“I told him you were coming up for a week and he wanted to come say hi,” Sansa supplied. He glanced at her gratefully.

“Well, that was nice of you,” Catelyn added, turning to Jon. He tried not to look guilty. Trying to get everyone’s attention away from him, Jon looked to the two puppies Arya had released that were now scampering across the floor. He realized after a beat that Sansa held a third one.

“Who’re these, then?” he asked, crouching down. The white one came up to sniff his hand. Arya plopped down next to him, capturing the other pup in her arms.

“We found them on the way in, in an alley,” Arya answered.

“Oh, they’ll probably need some water then,” he heard Sansa mutter, passing him the puppy she held and going into the kitchen.

“We thought we’d stop here to look up the humane society and drop them off on our way to the hotel,” Catelyn said, and Jon saw both Stark sisters’ heads whip around.

“ _We_ can just adopt them,” Arya urged, holding her puppy tighter. Sansa came around with a dish of water and sat on his other side, far enough away that they weren’t touching.

“Arya, we are not taking three dogs back up to Winterfell with us.”

“You don’t have to take three. I’ll keep the other two here,” Sansa suggested. Jon caught the look of surprise Arya gave Sansa, but he didn’t think anyone else saw it.

“What will your roommates say if you suddenly have two puppies running around here?” Sansa shrugged.

“Look at how cute they are. How could they say no to that face?” Sansa asked, holding up the grey puppy to Catelyn. _How could anyone say no to her face?_ Jon thought, looking at Sansa. Catelyn sighed.

“We’ll talk about it,” Catelyn said, effectively ending the discussion. Jon thought that was his cue to leave.

“I should get going,” he muttered, putting the white puppy back on the floor and pushing himself up. “I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner?” Catelyn nodded and Arya got up to hug him goodbye.

“I’ll walk you out,” Sansa said softly. Still carrying the puppy, she followed him down the stairs. “I’m sorry about that,” she whispered once they were by the front door.

“It’s all right. I think tomorrow will be better to tell them anyway.”

“I’ll text you when they leave.” He nodded.

“See you later. I love you.” She leaned forward, kissing him quickly. Jon was too surprised to fully kiss her back.

“I love you too,” he murmured. He realized he was always saying it back—Sansa always said it first. He liked that she did, but he felt bad that his was always in response. He never just said it. She didn’t notice though, and only smiled at him as he left.

* * *

 

Jon was nearly home when he got a text from Edd, asking him to swing by the shop. Normally, Jon would’ve been irritated at being called in on such short notice, but today he didn’t mind. He could use something to occupy his time, take his thoughts off Sansa and the other two Stark women.

When he got to the shop though, he realized he wasn’t being called into work. There was only one car in the bay and it was for an oil change. They could all do that in their sleep.

“Hey, we’ve got Sansa’s present. You can still give it to her for us?” Edd asked, passing Jon a soft package wrapped in newspaper.

“Yeah, a’course.” He took the package, looking at it curiously. “Mind if I ask what it is?”

“Just a Night’s Watch hoodie, like ours. Except it says _STARK_ on the back. We figured she’s basically one of us. Plus she wears yours often enough.” Edd shrugged, and Jon thought he looked embarrassed again. “Do you think she’ll like it?” Jon looked at him, thinking that he was the last person to ask, but he realized he was the person to ask. He was her boyfriend.

“She’ll love it,” he answered, knowing she would. He wasn’t sure he did though. He rather liked her wearing _his_ hoodie, with _his_ name—or lack there of. He did like the idea of her being one of them though, of them having matching hoodies. Something linking them both, showing that they were together.

“Tell her happy birthday from all of us.”

“I will,” Jon promised. He picked up the present, noticing that scrawled in the corner was _To Sansa, from the Night’s Watch lads._ Jon smiled, enjoying the fact that his friends liked her enough to get her something, to get her something to make her feel more welcome at the shop, something connecting her to all of them. To men like him.

“See you Sunday,” Edd called and waved a hand, agreeing.

Outside the shop, Jon stopped, hesitating, staring at the display in the window. It was a pet supplies store. Thinking of Sansa’s pleading face and Arya’s determined one, he went in. He wasn’t getting much. He thought he’d pick up a bag of food, just in case the Stark women got their way.

Inside the store, he went immediately for the food, bypassing everything else, but on his way out, he mistakenly turned down an aisle with collars and leashes. He paused, wondering if, even if Sansa and Arya didn’t get their way, they could be necessary until Catelyn could get the puppies to the humane society. He stared at the leashes and imagined him and Sansa walking the puppies, her with the grey one and he with the white, looking like a little family.

Jon quickly pushed that image from his mind and went to pay for the food before he bought something else.

He reminded himself not to get attached to the puppies. He thought both Sansa and Arya were determined not to allow the puppies to go to the shelter, but Jeor had been determined too, and stern redheaded women tended to get their way from what he saw.

* * *

 

Jon wrapped his present to Sansa when he got back to his apartment and packed it in a bag with the one from Edd and the lads. He didn’t want to give either of them to her in front of her family, even if they knew about them dating. The snowflake was incredibly personal and he while he liked the Starks, he couldn’t share that much about himself in public like that.

He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to give them to her, but he thought at some point they’d be able to find a few moments alone so that he could give her both gifts.

It was only two hours later when Sansa texted him, saying Catelyn and Arya had gone to their hotel for the night, and did he want to come over?

Jon wanted to ask if the puppies were still there, or if they’d been taken to the shelter, but he thought he knew the answer. If she was asking him over to hers, he was guessing the puppies were still there.

 **I’ll be over in a few minutes**.

He packed the rest of his overnight stuff in his bag and grabbed the bag of puppy food on the way out, hoping he was right and that the puppies were still there.

He was happy to find he was right as soon as Sansa opened the door, still holding the grey one.

“So you’re keeping them?” he asked, reaching out to scratch the pup behind an ear. It’s little eyes closed when he did. Sansa sighed, and her eyes rolled.

“Mum wants to talk about it some more. She thinks if we actually visit the humane society we’ll feel differently about taking them there.” Her tone said that she didn’t see that happening and it loosened something in Jon. “But they’re here for now.”

“I picked up some dog food for them, just in case,” Jon told her as they walked up to the kitchen.

“Oh, good idea! Thanks. I’ll get some bowls.” Still holding the puppy, she started pulling dishes down. Jon sat on the floor while she did, waiting for one of the other puppies to come out from under the table. The dark grey and white one bounded out, sniffing him, but the white one he had held earlier watched him warily from under the table.

“What’s the story with the puppies? Did you get any more details?” Jon asked, petting the bolder pup.

“Oh, you know Arya. They were driving in and she saw one run down the alley, got Mum to stop the car and went in search of it. She said they were in some cardboard box. Mum said it looked like the owner was trying to sell off a litter of puppies but either decided not to or couldn’t sell these three or something. Arya somehow convinced Mum to at least bring them here. Or, more likely, she brought the pups into the car and refused to get back out.” Sansa shrugged, her look saying _you know Arya_ again.

Jon stared at the pup under the table, even though his sisters were eating from the bowls Sansa set down before settling herself next to him. _They’re_ _abandoned_ , he thought. Just like he had been. At least they had each other though.

“That one’s been under there since you left. Arya said he nearly bit her when she tried to pick up one of the others.” Jon looked at the pup again, considering the way he seemed to watch Jon cautiously.

They sat in silence, watching the two puppies eat and the other one watch them. It was then Jon realized how quiet the house was.

“Margaery isn’t back yet?” Sansa shook her head.

“She’s decided to come back tomorrow morning. She must’ve found someplace good to stay.” Sansa pushed herself up, picking up the two puppies that finished eating. “We should probably take them outside before we go to bed. Can you try and get the white one?” Jon nodded, moving one of the chairs to crawl under the table. The pup didn’t back away but it didn’t come any closer either.

“C’mon, I won’t hurt you. No one here will hurt you. You’re safe,” he was whispering to the puppy. He reached out a hand but didn’t actually reach for the pup. He let him inch closer, sniffing his hand, before pulling him from beneath the table.

“Oh, good, you got him,” Sansa said as soon as he joined her in the backyard. Jon released the pup into the grass and he ran towards his sisters. She sat facing the puppies and Jon sat on the patio next to her, close enough that their hips were just touching. “You don’t have to come tomorrow if it makes you uncomfortable,” Sansa said quietly after a moment of them sitting there, still facing forward. Jon turned sharply toward her, something sharp twisting in him at her words.

“It—” he started, but Sansa waved him off.

“It’s all right. I know it makes you comfortable. I could see it on your face when you saw Mum and Arya. I can tell them after dinner with Robb.” He reached over then, wrapping her hand in his and pulling it onto his lap, forcing her to look at him.

“I love you, Sansa, and I’m coming tomorrow. What kind of boyfriend would I be, skipping out on your birthday dinner?” Sansa laughed, leaning into him, and even though it was a chilly night, Jon felt warm.

Later that night, Jon watched from Sansa’s bed as she set up a little bed of pillows and blankets on the floor for the puppies. He knew he loved her, but he was hit with just how much as he watched her prepare the pups for bed. Again, an image struck him, of Sansa taking care of babies instead of puppies before coming to bed with him. Again, he had to push it from his mind. He dared not let himself even dream of wanting that with her. Not yet, not when he couldn’t even drum up the courage to tell her mother and sister that they were together.

They would do it tomorrow. He could do it tomorrow. He could push away his fears of being told he wasn’t good enough by Catelyn because he knew Sansa thought he was good enough. 

* * *

Jon woke before Sansa did, which was rare. It took him a moment to realize that something had woken him. Rolling away from Sansa to look towards the puppies’ bed, he saw that the white one was staring at him.

“You lot need to go out, don’t you?” he mumbled, slowly detangling himself from Sansa so as not to wake her. He herded the puppies down stairs and out the back, sitting where he’d sat with Sansa yesterday.

Jon wished he’d had more foresight and had thought to bring Sansa something to surprise her with when she woke up, as she’d done with the flowers. He thought he could go and pick something up, but he couldn’t leave the puppies there and have then wake her only to have him gone, and he couldn’t take them with when he had no leashes and no collars. He’d have to make do with what he could.

On his way to take the puppies back in by Sansa, he paused in the kitchen. He thought he might be able to find something in there to surprise her with.

Still keeping an eye on the pups, he started scrounging around, looking for something he could bring in to her that didn’t take forever to cook, and maybe something he could stick a candle in. In the freezer, he found a roll of dough for cinnamon rolls.

Jon pulled it out, reading the instructions. They only took about fifteen minutes to bake. He could do that. He’d just have to remember to buy a roll to replace whoever’s he was stealing.

While the cinnamon rolls baked, he continued looking; hoping one of them had a candle somewhere. He actually found a whole drawer dedicated to them, and he pulled out a yellow one along with a lighter.

Once the cinnamon rolls were done, Jon stuck the candle in the center and shepherded the puppies back into Sansa’s room.

“Oh, you didn’t have to take them out,” Sansa said, surprising him. He’d been hoping she would still be asleep.

“It’s all right. I didn’t mind. Happy birthday.” He handed her the plate and she took it, eyes soft on his face. Jon didn’t understand why it made his heart beat so fast.

“Thank you, Jon. This is perfect.” Jon felt his face head and he had to turn his head away, not wanting her to see him blush over something so simple. When he glanced back up, her eyes were still on him, so soft and warm. She held his eyes as she blew out the candle and Jon’s chest ached with the idea that he was somehow involved in her birthday wish.

Jon waited until after they were done eating to give her the gifts, partially because every time he thought of giving her the snowflake necklace, explaining what it meant, his heart would thud against his ribs.

“I’ve got something for you,” he murmured, moving their plates to the nightstand and grabbing his bag. He pulled out the one from the lads first, figuring it was safer. “This is from all the lads at the shop. They say happy birthday too.” Sansa looked so touched at just the thought of them getting her something that he wished they were all here to see her open it, just to experience something so good for once.

Sansa opened the package carefully, as though it had been wrapped with expensive paper. He’d seen her do this in Winterfell, at Christmas, but he thought it had been because of how nice the wrapping paper had been. Now he realized that was just Sansa. She wasn’t destructive, even when opening presents.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, pulling the hoodie from the newspaper. From the way she reacted, you would have thought she’d gotten a cashmere sweater, not a Night’s Watch hoodie.

“It says _STARK_ on the back. They said you’re basically one of us,” he told her, repeating Edd’s words. Sansa flipped it over and traced her fingers over the letters.

“I’ll have to thank them next time I’m there. This is fantastic.” She shrugged it on, pulling it up around her. Jon thought they must’ve gotten her the same size hoodie as his, because this one still looked a little big on her.

“They’ll be thrilled to hear you like it.”

“Of course I like it. I would’ve liked anything they got me,” she assured him. He felt a smile pulling on his lips.

“This one’s from me,” he said, voice quiet and coming out far more rough than he would’ve liked. He cleared his throat, hoping she passed it off as him having something caught in it.

Sansa was more careful still with his wrapping, though it wasn’t any better than Edd’s. She glanced up at him when the paper fell away to reveal a small box some part had been shipped to the shop in. He knew the look wasn’t because of where he’d gotten the box but because of the size of it. He’d specifically picked one that was similar to a box jewelry came in.

“Jon…” she started, before she’d even removed the lid.

“Just open it.” She held his gaze for another second, but then she pulled off the lid, and gasped.

“Oh, Jon, it’s beautiful,” she breathed, pulling out the necklace. He’d put the pendent on a length of black cord, and while it wasn’t beautiful or lovely, it was made with love.

“D’you like it?”

“I love it.”

“I made it, at the shop.” Sansa’s eyes shot over to his and he felt himself color again.

“You made this? Oh, Jon…”

“I…I picked a snowflake because… Because you were the first person to make me feel like being a Snow wasn’t something terrible. You’re the first to make me feel like I’m still loveable, even though I’m a Snow. Like there’s not something inherently wrong with me that makes people not want me. And I wanted to give you something, to show how much that means to me. I wanted to show how you don’t make me feel like I’m not a Snow, but make it feel like it’s all right that I am a Snow. I’m not ashamed of it with you.” He watched her hands as he spoke, the way she ran her thumb over the flat of the pendent. He saw that she stopped, but didn’t move his head to look at her face. He couldn’t.

He saw her hands move from his line of vision, saw the pendent settle on her chest, before he was tackled by her, arms and legs both wrapping around him.

“Jon,” she whispered in his ear, holding him tight. Jon held her back, burying his face in her shoulder. He loved her for reacting as she did, for not challenging anything he said, but for just holding him, proving how much she loved him in how she held him instead. He felt her fingers in his hair and he almost wanted to sob with how much he loved the feeling of her holding him.

“Thank you. It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten,” she murmured in his ear, still holding him. Relief flooded him, washing away anxieties he hadn’t realized he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to have the next chapter up either tomorrow or Tuesday. I start work again on Wednesday, so updates may slow slightly until Labor Day.


	25. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little shorter, but it means it's posted today, so that's a plus.

Sansa spent the afternoon trying to draw the puppies, but they all moved too fast and too much for her to capture anything. She gave up focusing on them and instead turned to doodling in the corner of her sketchbook.

“Is that what you drew on your arm, that day by Robb’s car?” Jon asked, leaning closer to her. They were on the sofa in the living room, watching the puppies play with one of her old shoes. Sansa paused her pencil, looking at it, trying to remember.

“Probably,” she shrugged. “It’s what I draw when I’m bored or trying to figure something out.” She stared at it, the design something from her childhood. “Arya actually asked me to draw it, when we were younger. She’s always had an obsession with wolves. I wasn’t very good back then, so it came out more abstract. She said it was too pretty to be a wolf,” Sansa recalled.

“Well, I like it,” Jon said decisively, causing Sansa to smile.

She looked up at him, a question she wouldn’t allow herself to ask on her tongue. Instead, she fiddled with the snowflake pendent, turning her eyes back to her sketchbook. She had the necklace, marking her as Jon’s but Jon didn’t having anything marking him as hers. She wanted proof of her claim on him, even if it was temporary and even if they were the only two who knew about it.

“What is it, Sansa?” She spun her pencil between her fingers, looking again at her doodle.

“Can I draw it on you? Not anywhere obvious. Up here, maybe,” she said, lightly touching the top of his arm, near his shoulder. Jon looked at her, something more than just softness in his eyes.

“Sure,” he murmured. Sansa leaned down to pull out a marker from the bag at her feet before rolling up the sleeve of Jon’s t-shirt and recreating the small wolf on his arm. When she was done, she pulled the sleeve back down, making sure it hid the inking. Only the tail end of a swirl peeked out, and Sansa thought that was good enough. No one would be able to tell what it was of from just that.

“Is everyone decent?” came from the stairs. The puppies all perked up at a new voice, running toward the sound.

“Yes!” Sansa yelled back, pushing herself up to keep the puppies from playfully attacking Margaery.

“I’m gone for two days and we get three more roommates?” Margaery asked, bending down to lightly pat one of them before swinging her bag onto the kitchen table.

“My sister found them in an alley. Mum wants to take them to the humane society but Arya wants to take them back to Winterfell.”

“Well, they certainly are cute. Hi, Jon,” she called and he waved.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on them tonight? Just when we go out to dinner for my birthday?”

“What’ll I have to do?” Sansa shrugged.

“Make sure there’s water in the bowl and occasionally take them outside. It’ll only be for an hour or two. We can feed them before we leave.”

“All right.” Margaery glanced over to Jon, who looked like he was trying very hard not to listen on the sofa. “You’ll have to tell me all the details later,” she whispered and Sansa blushed. “I’m going to go shower,” she said, voice at normal volume. Sansa nodded, ushering the puppies back in by Jon. He immediately reached for the white one and Sansa wondered if each of them getting a puppy would be a better argument than Arya taking all three, or only one, or her keeping two of them at the house. One puppy was much easier to swing than two, or even three.

* * *

 

Robb and Jeyne picked up Jon and Sansa from hers, driving them to the restaurant he’d made reservations at.

Sansa laughed and Jon snorted when they pulled into the parking lot. It was the restaurant Jon had originally taken her on their first date—the one they left for the taco place.

“Have you been here before? I’ve heard it’s good?” Robb asked as they walked in.

“Never eaten here before,” Sansa answered honestly, not wanting to go into the whole thing.

They met Catelyn and Arya inside and the waitress showed them to their table. Arya moved to sit next to Jon and Sansa let her, sitting across from him instead, next to her mother, instead. After they all sat, Sansa realized that she was sitting across from Jon the way Jeyne was sitting across from Robb.

“We thought we could do gifts and cake at your house after we dinner,” Catelyn said, opening her menu.

“All right.”

“Can I stay at Sansa’s tonight?” Arya asked suddenly. Sansa’s head jerked over to look at her. Arya hadn’t asked to have a sleep over with her since they were both still in elementary school. “I wanna help take care of the puppies.” _Ah. That made more sense._

“If it’s all right with your sister. We’re not settled on the issue of the puppies yet though, so don’t get too attached.”

“What puppies?” Robb asked, leaning over. Arya started explaining the story and Sansa reached out one of her feet, nudging Jon’s just enough to let him know it was there.

“I still think the humane society is the best option,” Catelyn murmured when Arya finished. Sansa saw Arya’s eyes flash.

“I actually looked up the King’s Landing humane society earlier,” Sansa began, eyes still studying the menu.

“Hi, can I get you started with something to drink?” the waitress asked, interrupting her. Sansa glanced up to see Arya’s glare turn from their mother to her. They went around quickly, ordering their drinks.

“Anyway, I read some reviews of it. It seems like it’s a nice enough place, but they tend to not keep animals longer than a month or two.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? They try to get everyone adopted right away.”

“Or put down, if they’re not adopted at the end of the month,” Sansa corrected softly. She felt three sets of eyes on her, and she could easily guess what they were thinking. Catelyn probably thought Sansa would be on her side, after all, she was supposed to be the one with the most Tully blood. Arya was probably surprised that Sansa was on her side, arguing to keep the puppies. And Jon. Jon looked impressed with her, though she couldn’t imagine why. It wasn’t a very hard argument to think up.

“We’ll talk about it,” Catelyn said, again ending the conversation.

They moved to safer topics then, Catelyn telling them about the youngest Starks, about Arya’s tour that was planned for later in the week. Robb filled them in on his and Jon’s classes, and Sansa told them about the showcase on Thursday her art would be featured in. Jon and Arya were both quiet, but that wasn’t wholly abnormal for either of them, especially after Arya already started an argument over the puppies.

While they ate Sansa watched Jon, making sure he was still comfortable, making sure he was included in the conversation. She knew Arya was watching her, trying to figure out what was going on, but Sansa wasn’t hiding anything. They weren’t hiding anything. They just weren’t being blatantly obvious about it.

* * *

 

After dinner, Catelyn drove Arya to the hotel to pick up stuff so that she could stay over night while Robb drove everyone else back to Sansa’s.

“So where’re these puppies?” Robb asked as soon as Sansa had the front door open.

“Up here. Margaery was looking after them.” Sansa led them up, smiling when the pups met her at the top of the stairs. She heard the coos from both Robb and Jeyne behind her as they stooped to pet the puppies. “We’re back, so you’re off duty,” Sansa told Margaery, leaning over the edge of the sofa. Margaery looked up from the magazine she was flipping through.

“Oh, good. I mean, they’re cute and all, but damn it was like babysitting. Happy birthday, by the away. I forgot to say it earlier. I’ll let you guys have the living room.” She waved to Robb, Jeyne, and Jon before ducking into her room.

“Mum really wants to send them to the shelter?” Robb asked, cradling the one Arya seemed to favor. Sansa shrugged.

“I think she just doesn’t want to take three puppies back to Winterfell,” Sansa answered, and she thought that was reasonable. That was a long drive on its own, nevertheless with three puppies and Arya.

“I guess that’d be a hassle,” Robb admitted, letting the pup down. Robb looked like he wanted to say something else, even opened his mouth to, but the doorbell stopped him. “I’ll got let them in,” he said instead.

Sansa helped Jon corral the puppies in the living room while Robb and Jeyne helped Catelyn and Arya bring up the cake and presents.

“You can put your bag in my room,” Sansa called to Arya, and motioned to the open door in the hallway. Arya nodded, quickly heading for the hallway. She came back out only seconds later, and Sansa thought there was something off on her face, but she didn’t have time to consider what could’ve caused a change in only a handful of seconds because Robb was sitting her on the sofa and starting to pass packages to her.

The gift opening should have gone much faster than it had on Christmas, as Sansa was the only one opening them, but she was careful with the wrapping paper, pulling up the tape and folding it neatly after it was removed. She knew it wasn’t how presents were typically opened, but she wasn’t impatient and she hated to destroy anything that could be reused, and hated to destroy the beautiful wrapping paper her mother always picked.

She received some form or another of art supplies from nearly everyone, including gifts that had been sent down from her younger brothers and Ned. The only two not to get her art supplies, aside from Jon, were Catelyn and Arya. From Catelyn, she got a grey tea set and kettle, with winter vines twisting around the cups.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful,” Sansa murmured, studying the set.

“I had something similar, at university. My mother gave it to me for my twentieth birthday.” Sansa looked up at her mother, smiling. The tea set was the closest thing to a peace offering Sansa had seen from her mother. She wondered if, in visiting KLU, she realized that coming wasn’t such a terrible thing. She wondered if she would realize the same thing about Jon when they told her.

“Mine next,” Arya said, tossing the package at her. Sansa just caught it. It was rolled in tissue paper and not actually properly wrapped. Sansa unrolled it, revealing a white fabric bag.

“Thanks,” Sansa said, and it pained her how different she sounded, thanking Arya for the bag versus how her voice sounded when she thanked her mother for the tea set.

“The woman at the shop said you could draw on it—design it yourself. She said charcoal would work on it. And it’ll fit your sketchbook. I checked.” Sansa looked at the bag again, noticing that the fabric it was made from wasn’t much different from a canvas, and how big it was.

“Thank you,” Sansa said again and this time her voice was far more genuine.

“Are we ready for cake, then?” Robb asked, standing.

“I’ll help,” Arya said, darting to her feet.

They sang happy birthday to Sansa and ate cake in the living room, chatting quietly. Sansa was looking to Jon, wondering if this was the time to tell them, but something in his expression told her not yet. It was probably that he didn’t want to spoil the moment, because everyone was smiling and laughing and getting along, even Arya, and even with how new he was to their family, he knew how rare this was. _Tomorrow_ , his eyes said. _Tomorrow, so we won’t spoil your birthday._

Robb, Jeyne, and Catelyn left once everything was cleaned up, each hugging Sansa and wishing her a happy birthday again, in addition to Catelyn promising that they would settle the issue of the pups tomorrow. Jon left soon after, saying good night to the white pup and Arya, and Sansa walked him out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered at the door. “I didn’t want to ruin your birthday.”

“It’s all right, Jon. We’ll tell them tomorrow. I’ll text you in the morning.” She leaned up to kiss him, gripping his shirt between her fingers.

“All right. I love you,” he murmured when she broke away, leaning his forehead against hers.

“I love you too.” She kissed him again before he left, wishing he could stay.

When she went back upstairs, Arya was sitting in the middle of the living room, all three puppies crawling over her lap. Sansa joined her, sitting a little distance away, leaning against the sofa.

“Was that true, what you said earlier? About the shelter putting animals down after a month.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Does that mean you’re fighting for them?” Sansa looked over at her, confused.

“Fighting for them?”

“Do you agree with me or Mum?”

“Well, I’ve grown rather attached to them,” Sansa admitted, picking up the grey one.

“So even if Mum says no, you’ll fight for them?” Sansa shrugged, unsure of why this was so important to Arya.

“I guess so?”

“Even if Mum says no?”

“Arya, I jus—”

“You’re not a fighter. You don’t usually fight for things. You didn’t when Dad took all the dogs to Uncle Benjen’s—” _That was because that was the best place for them_ , Sansa thought. The cottage had gotten far too crowded with five children, five dogs, and their parents. “—And you didn’t fight when Mum told you you couldn’t come to KLU.”

“I did—”

“No, you cried to Dad and Robb and they fought for you to come here. Why are these puppies different?” Sansa realized suddenly that Arya wasn’t actually talking about the puppies then. She was talking about Jon, asking if she was going to fight for him, if Catelyn disapproved of the relationship.

“They are different, Arya. And so’s Jon.” This time Arya’s head whipped over to Sansa’s. “I will fight for him, if I have to.”

“Good.”

“How’d you know?” Sansa asked.

“That wolf you drew on his arm. And his hoodie in your room.”

“How’d you see the wolf? I thought I drew it up high enough.”

“You did. One of the bits stuck out though.”

“And you recognized it from that little bit?”

“A’course I did.” Arya got up then, coming to sit closer to Sansa. She rolled up her t-shirt sleeve, exposing the same design tattooed on the inside of her bicep.

“You got it tattooed? Wait, when’d you get a tattoo?”

“Last summer,” Arya shrugged. Sansa really wanted to ask why Arya got _that_ tattoo, but she didn’t She knew Arya would only give some sort of deflective, flippant comment. “Do you love him, then?”

“I do.”

“And he loves you?”

“He says he does.”

“Well. I guess it’s all right then. As long as you fight for him.” Arya picked up the other, darker pup, the one she tended to pick up. She appeared to be done with the discussion.

“Arya?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.” Arya looked up, and for once Sansa didn’t see her guard up—she looked pleasantly surprised at Sansa thanking her, but turned away again before Sansa could say anything else.

For some reason, Sansa felt that Arya being all right with it meant more than Robb did. She thought it might’ve been because she knew how instantaneous their connection was, and how strong. Jon was the only one she’d seen that could get Arya to settle down quickly— _or apologize,_ she thought, remembering when Arya texted her after talking to Jon.

She wanted to tell Jon, tell him Arya’s all right with us. She didn’t throw a fit. She wanted to tell Jon _I will fight for you, if it comes to it._ She hoped it wouldn’t, but she thought he should know all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, thanks go to the creator of the modern Stark au moodboard that's going around tumblr, with Arya's section in purple and the wolf tattoo for inspiration on this chapter. If anyone knows who made it please thank them for me.
> 
> I also was planning on making this chapter, the discussion between Arya and Sansa very different, but after the ASININE BULLSHIT of the episode, I couldn't write an actual fight between them, so I went with this instead.


	26. Jon

The text Sansa had sent him that morning was still floating in his mind as he worked, feeling that knot he’d felt since Aryan and Catelyn arrived loosen just a bit.

_Arya knows. She’s all right with it, surprisingly. She’s protective over you._

Jon knew Arya was the one Sansa was more nervous about telling, though he didn’t understand why. He knew the sisters didn’t always get along—they were very different people with not a lot in common, but Jon knew Arya. And he knew that while she didn’t really understand her sister, she just wanted the best for everyone.

It was Catelyn Jon was more nervous about telling. Catelyn, who looked so much like the woman who stopped him from having a family, who could stop him from having a family. Catelyn could say _no, you’re not dating him_ , could say _I forbid it._ He was terrified that that was how she could react. He knew it was because of his past, because of Lysa, that he felt this way, but knowing why didn’t help him to not feel it.

He just had to keep reminding himself that Catelyn was not Lysa and Sansa was not Ygritte.

“Hey, hey, you. Stark,” Jon heard someone call from the lobby but didn’t look up from his work. “Stark! Hey!”

“I think they’re talking to you, Jon,” Grenn muttered, leaning over. Jon looked up then.

“I’m not a Stark,” he mumbled.

“Well, your hoodie says otherwise. Go see what they want.” Jon reached around, tugging at the back of the hoodie he wore. He could just see the _K_ where there should’ve been a _W._ In his haste to get his things out of Sansa’s room, he must’ve grabbed her hoodie and not his. Jon sighed, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands with, and going to see what they wanted.

Apparently it was just some impatient ass who couldn’t be bothered to wait for his turn to pull his car in for an oil change. Jon assured him his car would be next, and the faster he could finish the car he was working on, the faster he could start on his oil change. Normally when he got flip with costumers they would immediately make a comment about his last name, the fact that he was a Snow, but this one didn’t do that. He just said, _Right. Thanks, Stark._

Jon wished he wasn’t working on an oil change. He wished he was working on something that would force him to focus and not think about anything else.

Specifically, not think about how it felt being called _Stark_ rather than _Snow_. He hated how good it felt. He hated how much he loved it, loved having _STARK_ across his back and not _SNOW_. He hated how he wanted to be called Stark again. Hated the way it made his heart race when he thought of him and Sansa sharing the same last name.

Jon stomped that thought down. He couldn’t think like that.

He had to stop having these thoughts about him and Sansa: first the puppies, then the thought of a baby, and now this.

He wouldn’t let himself want that.

He hadn’t let himself want that since Ygritte broke up with him.

He hadn’t let himself want that since she broke up with him when he told her what he’d always wanted: a wife, children, a house, a home. A family.

He hadn’t let himself want that since she broke up with him when he proposed.

Jon had to stop, get his mind on something else.

_Don’t think about Ygritte. Don’t compare her to Sansa. Sansa’s different. She’s not like Ygritte. She’s kind and loving._

“I’m taking a break,” he called, shutting the lid of the car a little too hard. Both Grenn and Edd’s heads looked over to him, probably concerned about the anger in his voice, but he moved too quickly to the break room.

Jon went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, hoping that would kill the thoughts running rampant through his head.

Jon had let Sansa in completely and now he was paying for it, with thoughts of things he dared not wish for.

After dunking his head under the stream of cold water didn’t do any good, he sat on one of the benches, pulling his phone out. He thought hearing Sansa’s voice might help, might calm him down and stop the spiraling thoughts, but that also terrified him—the fact that she had such an effect on him. But he called her anyway.

“Jon, did you get off work early?” Sansa answered and he already felt the storm inside him start to settle.

“No, no, I’m on break.”

“Are you all right? Your voice sounds funny.” Jon leaned his head against the lockers, closing his eyes. She could tell something was wrong, just by the sound of his voice.

“I, erm. I grabbed your hoodie on accident last night.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I wore it to work.”

“Oh,” she breathed, knowing without him having to say it. “Jon, I’m…” _Sorry_ , he finished in his head.

“It’s all right. It was just…” _Good, too good._ “Strange.”

“I’ll come by after your shift, all right?”

“No, you don’t have to—”

“Jon, I’ll be over.” Her voice was resolute and he was thankful for it.

“All right.”

“See you in a few hours.”

“All right,” he muttered again.

“Hey, Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” They said it a lot, whenever they were parting or saying good night, but this one sounded different. It sounded like it had the first time she said it, like she was reminding him, telling him for the first time again. Jon smiled.

“I love you too.”

* * *

 

Sansa arrived at the shop just when his shift ended. He could see the worry in her eyes and he hated himself for putting it there, hated himself for loving that she was worried about him.

“I’ve just gotta grab something,” he muttered, kiss her lightly, distracted, before going back to grab her hoodie that he’d shoved in his locker after he got off the phone with her. “This is yours.” He handed it to her, and she folded it over her arm.

“C’mon,” she whispered, tugging on his hand, leading him back to his apartment.

Sansa kicked the door to his apartment shut, and took his face in her hands. Jon closed his eyes, trying to reign in his emotions. The love he felt for her in that moment was overwhelming, all consuming, washing over him in waves until he felt like he was drowning in it.

Sansa kissed him then, not gentle or chaste as she usually did, but hungrily, as though she was trying to kiss away every negative thought he’d ever had. As though she would single handedly battle his demons, his ghosts, all with her love and her touch. It left him breathless.

He kissed her back with greed, wanting— _needing_ —everything she was willing to offer.

Sansa walked Jon through to the bedroom, kissing him as though she craved him as he craved her.

She only broke her kiss to pull his shirt over his head, whipping hers off after.

Jon thought he should stop her, tell her that they didn’t need to, but he didn’t have the strength in him, so he didn’t say anything when she started unbuttoning his pants.

Seconds later, Sansa pulled him down on top of her, her hands running the length of his back and her mouth nipping at his chest. Jon couldn’t help the rumbling groan that came out as he rolled against her underwear.

This wasn’t the slow, sweet, loving, tender sex they’d been having. This was rushed, hurried, raw, and primitive.

Jon was still careful not to hurt her, but he wasn’t touching her like she was made of glass, of porcelain.

He wasn’t solely focused her orgasm, but he felt her walls tighten around him more than once.

Sansa clutched at his back, legs tightening around his waist, crying out his name and Jon was finishing with a broken moan, burying his face in his neck.

Jon collapsed next to her, breathless, boneless, and sweating. He knew he had to get up, toss out the condom, he knew Sansa had to get up to use the bathroom, but neither of them moved, just lying side by side, chests heaving in rhythm.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered, kissing his sweaty forehead, and swinging out of bed. Jon waited until his breathing slowed down a little more to toss out the condom.

Sansa came back just as he was lying back down. He expected her to start getting dressed, to start talking about the plan to tell Catelyn, but she slid back into bed, one leg over his, and propping herself up on her elbow. He closed his eyes at the feeling of her fingers along his hairline, pushing the sweat dampened curls from his face.

“Jon… whatever happens tonight, I’m going to fight for you.” Jon’s eyes flew open and he felt a burning behind them. He had to take a deep breath, shuddering though it was, to find his voice.

“Sansa, I don’t…” he stopped, reaching a hand up to hold her face. _I don’t deserve you_ , he thought. Sansa’s eyes turned misty, as though she could hear his thoughts.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asked. He could hear the thickness in her voice. They were both staving off tears.

“There was some impatient ass waiting for an oil change. He called me Stark to get my attention, thinking it was my name.” _And it was so sweet._ “It made me think of Ygritte,” he added, though he kept the rest of it to himself. _It made me think of how it would feel to share a name with you but then I panicked because she broke up with me when I asked her to be my family, to make a family with me._

“Ygritte?” Sansa’s nose crinkled in the way Jon thought was cute and thinking that kept him rooted in the moment with her.

“I proposed to her,” Jon started slowly, trying to say it in a way that wouldn’t freak out Sansa. They’d only been together for a month. No normal man would already be thinking about marriage, only a foundling, a Snow, would try to secure any love so permanently so quickly.

He could see the confusion on Sansa’s face. He could see her eyes move, trying to do the math connecting the fact that he proposed to Ygritte to him being called Stark. Her face coloring gave away the moment she figured it out.

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathed, but then she frowned again. “But… you two…”

“Suggesting we’re better off without each other was her answer,” Jon explained. Sansa’s lips parted just slightly and she ran her fingers through his hair. He wasn’t sure if it was meant to be calming gesture for him or for her, but he felt calmed by it all the same.

Sansa wrapped her body more firmly around his, apparently not caring that they were both still naked, holding him tightly.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was this vulnerable with someone: so exposed both physically and emotionally. He just knew that he’d never felt this safe while feeling this defenseless before.

* * *

 

Sansa had his hand held firmly in her own as they walked into Sansa’s house, her mother waiting for them there with Arya. Sansa had called her from his apartment, saying there was something she needed to tell her. He knew from the vague way Sansa phrased it that Catelyn probably assumed it was something about the puppies.

He wasn’t sure what Sansa’s plan was, how they would tell her. He just knew how determined she looked.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Jon tried to loosen his grip, but Sansa held him tighter. She didn’t let go even as they walked into the living room, where Arya was sitting on the floor, playing with the pups, and Catelyn sat in a chair, knitting.

Jon saw Arya’s eyes land on their entwined hands before immediately looking to Sansa’s face. He saw her little smirk, which he thought looked almost proud.

“Mum?” Sansa’s voice wasn’t quite as strong as her face looked, but Jon could see the fire in her eyes.

“Hmm?” Catelyn hadn’t looked up from the needles.

“Mum.” Her voice was stronger this time, causing Catelyn to look up. Jon wanted to stare at the ground, look anywhere but her face, but he forced himself to keep his eyes up. Which meant he saw the way her eyes saw their hands linked together, and the way the lines in her face seem to deepen. She set the needles down. “Jon and I are dating,” Sansa said with steel in her voice, squeezing his hand.

Catelyn sighed, the air coming sharply out of her nose and Jon felt the floor nearly fall out from under him.

“Arya, will you take the puppies outside?” Catelyn asked, voice as pleasant as ever but Jon’s blood was rushing in his ears. “I’d like to speak to Sansa privately,” she added, and Jon nodded, lowering his head.

Sansa still wouldn’t let go of his hand though.

“I’m all right,” he murmured, glancing up at her eyes. She didn’t look like she believed him, but she released his hand, after squeezing it one last time.

Jon followed Arya downstairs and out the back, to where he sat with Sansa only a day before.

Arya was trying to teach them to play fetch and Jon sat on the patio, trying not to think about what was happening inside. _I’m going to fight for you_ , her voice echoed in his mind. He prayed that she was.

Arya plopped down next to him after she was unsuccessful in teaching any of the puppies to retrieve the stick.

“You look wrecked,” she said and Jon couldn’t help the bitter laugh. _Of course I’m fucking wrecked,_ he thought, _the closest thing I’ve ever had to a home is fighting to be with me and I’m out here._

“Yeah, well,” he said instead.

“D’you know my friend Gendry?” she asked. Jon’s head spun with the change in conversation but he thought she was probably trying to get his head on something else. He nodded. He’d met the lad a few times, though briefly. “Do you know what his surname is?”

“No.”

“It’s Waters.” She said it so slowly and so carefully that Jon knew that Arya knew what it meant. She knew about foundlings and the names used for them.

“Waters? But…”

“He moved to Winterfell when he was thirteen. He was being fostered by a Northern family. They fostered him until he turned eighteen, but never adopted him,” she started, using the stick she still held to dig a line in the mud.

“He stayed up there?” Jon asked. He doubted he could stay somewhere were he would so obviously be marked as an outsider. He knew he wouldn’t stay in King’s Landing once he was done with school—he’d go back to where Snow may not be a family name, but it was common enough. He thought he was probably the only Snow enrolled at KLU.

“Yeah. He spends the holidays with the family still. Their daughter loves him. She was eight when he came to live with them. It was her idea, Shireen’s. She wanted an older brother.”

“Why didn’t they adopt him then?” Arya shrugged.

“I guess they never wanted to actually make the commitment.” Jon knew that feeling. The feeling of thinking someone loved him, enough to give him a home, make him apart of the family, only to be shuttled back to a group home. At least they fostered him until he aged out. Jon spent the last few years in the system in group homes because no one wanted a sixteen, seventeen-year-old sullen boy.

“I dragged him out of a pub on his eighteenth birthday,” Arya continued. “He got himself absolutely pissed because he was out of the system, but you know what?” An angry edge crept into her voice and Jon thought he knew what she would say next because he probably thought the exact same thing when he turned eighteen. “It wasn’t because he was thrilled. He was devastated because he’d never had a family.” Jon nodded, watching the line in the mud get deeper. He probably would’ve done something similar if he weren’t so focused on doing something people never expected of Snows: making something of his life.

“I know the feeling,” he muttered. To his surprise, Arya grabbed his hand, forcing him to look at her.

“You know what I told him? I told him _I can be your family._ ” Jon’s breath caught. He could only imagine how he would’ve felt if someone had said that to him when he aged out. If someone had told him a family didn’t have to be a mother, a father, and siblings. That all that was required to make a family was love.

“Sansa’s the closest thing I’ve had to a family, to a home,” he admitted. Arya’s lips twitched into something that was just more smile than smirk.

“Sansa and I don’t agree on a lot of things, but we’re both Starks. We love in the same way.”

“What way is that?” Jon couldn’t help but ask.

“Unwavering and with everything we’ve got.” Jon had to swallow back the lump in his throat. “Sansa’s your family— _we’re_ your family now. You don’t have anything to worry about.” Jon had managed to choke down his tears when Sansa said she’d fight for him, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to keep these at bay. “You know, I give her a lot of shit, but if there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s making places into homes.”

Jon couldn’t help but agree, remembering all the time she first came over to his apartment and how different it would feel when she left. She changed everything with just her presence. Not just in his apartment, but his life. She came into it with no warning and Jon knew he would never be the same for it, no matter what happened.

“She loves you,” Arya added when he didn’t say anything. He turned to look at her, surprised that she would tell him that. “You still look worried, but you shouldn’t be. She loves you,” she said again and Jon was thankful for her saying it with such instance. He thought maybe if Arya could see it and spoke so strongly of it, she might love him as much as he loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, we see Sansa and Cat's conversation next. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I start work again tomorrow, which means I'll probably be back to every other day updates until after next Monday. (We work for four days then have a week long Labor Day holiday for whatever reason). I'm hoping to have this finished before Labor Day and I actually get boughed down with work.


	27. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so I've been drained as hell after work even though it's just meetings, so thanks for being patient. 
> 
> This chapter is on the shorter side because I wanted it up tonight and it took me two bottles of beer to get it out so.

Sansa felt some of her strength and determination leave as soon as Jon left her side. She watched him walk out, part of her wishing that he would turn around and demand that he stay with her, but she knew that wouldn’t happen, and a majority of her knew it would be better this way: just her and Catelyn.

She reached up to the snowflake pendant that hung from her neck, drawing strength from that instead, turning to face her mother. Who, to Sansa’s surprise, was on the phone.

“Mum? Who are you calling right now?”

“Your father. I want to hear what he say to say about this.” Sansa thought that actually might be in her favor. She was pretty sure Ned liked Jon. Granted, that was when Jon was Robb’s best friend and not her boyfriend.

Sansa sighed, sitting on the love seat across from Catelyn. She still wished Jon was next to her, but she knew it was for the best.

“Ned, Sansa has something she’d like to tell you. I’m putting you on speaker phone.” Catelyn had that pinched tone in her voice Sansa knew meant she was stressed. She couldn’t understand why this would _stress_ Catelyn out. She expected her mother to be upset, but not stressed.

“Dad?”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Dad, I’m dating Jon,” she said quickly, rushing it together to get it out faster. She thought this would be easier if she could see his face.

“Robb’s friend?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d you think of this, Ned?” There was a pause on the other end of the phone.

“He seemed like a nice lad. A bit quiet though.” Sansa could practically hear Ned shrugging.

“You don’t see any problem with this?” Catelyn asked, her voice straining.

“Not off the top of my head, no,” Ned said slowly.

“But we don’t know anything about his family,” Catelyn insisted. There was a long pause of awkward silence.

“He’s a Snow, Mum. A foundling.” Catelyn colored, looking horrified at what she said.

“Oh. Oh, right, but even so. You’ll never know his medical or mental history.”

“Gendry’s a Waters though, and you don’t care about that.”

“We’ve known Gendry for years though. And Arya isn’t dating him,” Catelyn pointed out. Sansa wanted to say _that’s only because she’s not eighteen yet_ but she bit her tongue. Arya could fight that battle on herself.

“So the thing working against Jon is we’ve only just met him? How’s that fair?”

“We hardly know anything about him, Sansa.”

“ _You_ hardly know anything about him. It’s not as though we’ve started dating on a whim. We were friends first. We got to know each other.”

“I think that’s very wise,” Ned said, speaking up. Catelyn shot the phone a look, as if Ned would be able to see it or feel it.

“Are you sure you actually know all that much about him, though? You only met him a few months ago. How do you know everything he’s told you is true?”

“Because I _do_ , Mum. He’s Jon. He wouldn’t do that.”

“You sound as if you’re in love with him.”

“I am,” Sansa bit out, anger creeping in over the irritation.

“Sansa, sweetheart, let me talk to your mother for a little bit,” Ned called, cutting off whatever Catelyn had opened her mouth to say.

“All right. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Sansa stood, wanting to leave them with one last comment, but she couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just turned to join Arya and Jon in the backyard.

She paused on the second step though, when she realized that Catelyn hadn’t taken Ned off speakerphone.

“Cat, I don’t see what the big deal is,” Ned was saying. Sansa sat on the step, leaning closer to the living room.

“Is that really the type of boy you pictured Sansa ending up with?” Catelyn asked. Sansa wanted to ask _what type of boy_? What did she think Jon was? And what was so wrong with a boy like him? Jon was wonderful. He was perfect. He was everything she wanted.

“Well, no, but it doesn’t really matter, as long as they love each other.”

“And what about him being a foundling? If he’s still a Snow that means he was never adopted. What if he’s already planning out his entire future with her? She’s only twenty. That’s a lot of pressure to put on her. She’s never even been in a relationship before!”

“Ah, come on, Cat. They’re young. Let them be in love. Sansa’s strong, she can handle herself.”

Sansa smiled at that. _Strong_ wasn’t a word she’d ever been associated with. Ned always called Arya strong; she had always been _kind_ or _beautiful_. Arya had always been the one they were never that concerned about, because she could take care of herself. It was always Sansa they were worried about. The fact her dad thought she could handle herself made her proud.

“Of course you’re all right with this,” Catelyn sighed bitterly. That surprised Sansa. She didn’t expect Catelyn to be upset with Ned. She expected her mother to be upset with her, or with Jon. Not her father.

“Cat…” Ned groaned, as if he knew where this was going.

“You’ve never been able to say no to her, Ned. To any of them. I was all right with it when they were younger, all right with you being the fun parent because you were working late all the time. But you’re not working late anymore, Ned. And they’re all older. They’re not going to suddenly start hating you because you start telling them no.”

Sansa had full turned towards the living room now, listening, mouth hanging open.

“I know, Cat. I’m sorry.”

Sansa wasn’t listening anymore after that. She was focused on getting to her room without Catelyn seeing her and realizing she’d been listening the whole time.

She shut her door quietly behind her before perching on the bed, everything Catelyn said running through her head.

_You’ve never been able to say no to her. To any of them._

_You being the fun parent._

_They’re not going to suddenly start hating you because you start telling them no._

Sansa thought back to her childhood, trying to remember a fun memory with her mother, with _just_ her mother, but she was coming up blank. She remembered Cat making their lunches, helping them with homework, forcing them to do their homework. She remembered her siblings being scolded by Catelyn after conferences. She remembered her mother dragging them out of bed every morning for school. She remembered Catelyn being the one to always catch and discipline Robb, Arya, and Rickon.

Sansa realized her father had almost never been in any of those memories, not until she was older at least.

Ned had been the one who would take them all out for ice cream after one of her siblings’ sporting events. He had been the one to take them fishing, to take them camping, to take them out places to celebrate.

He was the peacekeeper. He was the one who comforted them after fights, with each other and with Cat. He was the one who would sometimes sneak one of them out even if they were grounded, or find loopholes in Cat’s punishment.

Sansa couldn’t actually remember her father yelling or telling any of them no. He’d never been the disciplinarian. It had always been Cat.

Sansa realized Catelyn had sacrificed her relationship with all five of them so Ned could have a positive one. She was the one who was home all day, who saw them at their worst. Ned, at least back then, had only been home for dinner half the time. He’d tuck them in and play with them on weekends. That was it.

Catelyn let them all resent her as the hard parent so that they wouldn’t resent Ned for working too much.

Sansa suddenly had new respect for her mother.

She started for the living room, ready to tell her mother how impressed she was with how much she loved Ned, but she paused before she reached the living room.

“Ned, I don’t know how I feel about Sansa dating him. I just don’t know if I can support this,” Catelyn was saying. Sansa couldn’t hear her father’s response and she guessed that Catelyn had taken it off speakerphone.

Sansa stepped back again, reconsidering. She’d tell her mother what she realized about her when Catelyn realized how perfect Jon was.

* * *

 

Sansa was watching Jon sleep, having been up for hours. She kept thinking about everything Catelyn had said, everything she overheard. She hadn’t told Jon all of it; just that Catelyn might need some time to absorb everything. He had nodded, looking resigned and Sansa hated it. He looked as though he’d expected as much, as if being rejected and unaccepted was second nature to him. It broke Sansa’s heart that her mother lived up to his expectations.

She wished she knew what to say to Catelyn to make her understand. Sansa knew what Arya would do if Catelyn had said those things about Gendry. She would’ve yelled, thrown a fit, said _I don’t care what you say. We don’t need your bloody blessing._

That wasn’t Sansa though. She _wanted_ her mother’s blessing, but didn’t want it through force. She wanted Catelyn to _understand_ , to see Jon the way she saw him. But Sansa couldn’t think of what she could say that would make Catelyn get it.

Sansa brushed Jon’s hair out of his face and his lips twitched in his sleep.

 _How could anyone think he’s anything other than perfect?_ she thought, leaving her fingers in his hair. _How could no one love him the way he deserves to be loved?_

To her surprise, her eyes started watering. She let them fall, having no one to hide them from. She didn’t really understand _why_ she was crying, but she suspected it had something to do with Jon and Catelyn.

It was a quiet cry, mostly just tears and not actual sobbing, but Sansa didn’t notice her tears drip from her cheeks until Jon’s hands were on her face.

“Sansa? Sansa, what’s wrong?” His voice was still asleep but his eyes were worried. Sansa sniffled, waving him off. “Sansa—darling, talk to me.” Sansa looked up then, giggling.

“You called me _darling_.” Jon blushed, ducking his head though he still held her face.

“Is that all right?”

“Of course it is,” she sighed, leaning forward to kiss him, soft and small all over his face until a sound escaped that was almost a giggle of his own.

Once she stopped, he captured her lips, slow and gentle. Sansa sighed into it, moving her body closer, forgetting all about the tears that were still drying on her face, forgetting about her mother and everything that she overhead. Forgetting everything but Jon.

“Sansa, wait,” he mumbled, pulling back. Sansa pouted just slightly and Jon looked absolutely torn. She kissed the tip of his nose to let him know the pout was more joking than anything else. He turned pink again. “Why were you crying?” Jon asked. Sansa thought his voice almost sounded _scared_ but that couldn’t be right. Why would he be scared about her crying?

“It’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

“I was just thinking about you…” she started.

“And that made you cry? Thanks,” he deadpanned, but the smile at the end didn’t reach his eyes. No, those were still guarded.

“I was… just thinking about how unfair life is.” _How unfair **your** life is_.

Sansa saw the moment his guard shattered and his eyes turned glassy.

“So… your mother… she…she doesn’t approve,” he said slowly, flatly. Sansa was sitting up all the way then, sliding onto his lap, hands on his jaw.

“She just needs time,” she assured him, tears welling up again.

“Then why are you crying again?”

Sansa sighed, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

“I’m… I’m so damn _frustrated_ ,” she groaned.

“At… at your mum? …Or at me?” Sansa lifted her head, staring at him.

“ _Not_ at you,” she stated firmly. “Not at Mum either,” she murmured a second later. “At the world, really. I’m frustrated with the world.” Jon chuckled softly.

“Why’re you frustrated with the world?”

“Because they can’t see how perfect you are.” Jon’s eyes were the ones that were watery this time, and that made Sansa’s vision blur.

“Oh, Sansa…” She heard the way his voice hitched at the end and she brought her hand to the back of his neck.

“You _are_ , Jon. So damn perfect.” Jon closed his eyes, obviously trying to force them back down. “I love you. I love you so much, Jon,” she whispered. She saw a tear leak out, and then his head was buried in her shoulder, his hand on the other side of his neck.

She held him gently, one arm around his shoulders, in his hair, the other pressed against his chest between them. She was crying too now, but she tried to keep her breathing steady. She didn’t want Jon trying to comfort her, not when she was trying to comfort him.

“I don’t deserve you, Sansa,” Jon said to her neck, lips tickling the skin.

“Don’t say that, Jon. Don’t you dare say that,” she whispered in his ear, holding him tighter, rocking back and forth slightly. “You deserve the world.”

“You are my world,” he breathed, and Sansa thought that felt more like a declaration of love than _I love you_ did. She felt more butterflies than she did when he said _I love you_ back, or when he said it first. She felt tingly and fuzzy and _permanent._ Like this wasn’t some university relationship that has a set expiration date of graduation. Like this was something much, much greater.

“You’re mine too,” she murmured, and he clutched her tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, with the Cat/Sansa thing, I was initially going to make it more of a fight but I decided that didn't feel right, so I toned it down a bit. 
> 
> I think this fic is going to have 30 chapters, which means probably 3 left. I'm hoping to finish before labor day.


	28. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to add a little smut to this chapter to make up for the episode tonight.
> 
> Also, I apologize if this chapter's shit. I drank through the episode and I'm rushing because I've got work in the morning but I wanted this done and up tonight.

Jon knew Sansa wasn’t telling him everything about the discussion she had with her mother, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He thought it meant Catelyn probably said something Sansa didn’t want him hearing, but he wished she’d just tell him whatever it was Catelyn said. He wanted to know what she thought of him that had Sansa crying before the sun had even risen.

The sick, twisted part of him wanted to know. The part of him that, when he was thirteen, whispered to sneak into the office, to read his file. To know why every family eventually returned him.

It was just after Jeor had dropped him back off, after Lysa said she was pregnant and he decided a grandchild of his own blood would be better than a poor substitute. He wanted to understand why he was always returned, why he wasn’t ever good enough, why no one ever wanted him.

He’d sneaked into the office the night he’d been sent back, quickly finding his own file because of how damn thick it was with reports from foster families and group homes.

He only remembered bits and pieces of what he read, his mind probably forcing him to forget for his own mental sanity.

_Very nice young lad, just not what we were looking for._

_Afraid we won’t be able to adopt after all. Our trueborn soon appears to be jealous of another child getting out attention._

_He’s very sweet, but he’s very quiet._

The only one that didn’t fill him with loathing, of himself, of others, was the one that read: _We would love to have Jon be apart of our family, but we just can’t afford another child at the moment._ The only problem was the one family who wanted him he couldn’t remember. They’d fostered him from the time he was found until he was a little over a year.

Jon wanted to add whatever it was Catelyn said to the list of reasons he was always found wanting. He wanted to know what it was about him that kept him from ever being loved.

 _Aside from Sansa_ , a voice in his head reminded.

Sansa loved him and he didn’t understand how or why but he knew better than to question it. He knew not to ask questions he’d rather not know the answers to. He learned that lesson when he went snooping in his file.

* * *

 

Jon was sitting home alone, staring at a textbook he should’ve been reading but wasn’t. He was too consumed thinking of worse case scenarios of what Catelyn could’ve said, of what Sansa was going to do. She’s said she’d fight for him, but so had Jeor, but he didn’t fight hard enough.

He was trying to focus on the words in front of him and not the words, the memories, swimming in his head, when his phone rang.

He expected it to be Sansa. Sansa was the only one who ever called him, so he didn’t bother to glace at the screen.

“Jon! I’m keeping Nymeria!” Arya near-shouted in his ear.

“Arya, I’m going to go deaf if you start all our phone calls like that,” he joked.

“Sorry. I’m just excited. Mum’s letting me keep Nymeria,” she said again at a reasonable volume.

“Nymeria?”

“My dog. Or puppy. Technically.”

“You’re getting to keep the puppies?” For some reason, that caused the tension in Jon’s chest to slacken. He didn’t know why he was feeling so relieved that the puppies were getting homes.

“Well, I’m only getting to keep Nymeria. Mum said Sansa can do as she likes with the other two, since she’s an adult and all. She’s named the grey one Lady.”

“What of the white one?” Jon asked, his stomach sinking again. _And the white one will be sent to the shelter, where it won’t be adopted and put down in a month_ , something in him whispered—the part of him that convinced him to look at his file, the part of him that wanted to know what Catelyn said.

“Well, that’s the thing. Sansa’s talking to Margaery but it doesn’t sound like it’s going well. Can you have pets in your apartment?”

“Erm… I think there might be a fee, but yeah. I can.”

“Great. I’ll tell Sansa’s that the white one’s got a home too.” Arya hung up before Jon could respond.

Jon stared at his phone for a few seconds before deciding to call Sansa. She would provide more information than calling Arya back would.

“Hi,” Sansa answered, sounding the way she always did and Jon found it reassuring. She didn’t sound any different, even after whatever happened with Catelyn.

“Hi. I, erm. I may have just agreed to take the white puppy?” Jon asked and Sansa laughed.

“Arya told me. You don’t have to Jon. I can find a home for him.”

“You can only keep the one?” Sansa sighed.

“Yeah. Margaery’s all right with the one, but she thought two was too many, especially once they start growing. I think they’re supposed to get pretty big.” Jon didn’t like the idea of the white puppy being split up from its sisters, of struggling to find a home for it, only for it to end up at the shelter.

“No, I’ll take him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’d be nice to not have the apartment empty all the time. I mean, when you’re not over,” he stumbled.

“All right. Do you wanna come over then? We’re going shopping for them.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

“Great. See you soon.”

As soon as Sansa hung up, Jon looked around the apartment, imagining the little white puppy in it. The puppy was quiet, like he was. He thought it was fitting, adopting the outcast puppy, the quiet one that no one wanted.

He was actually excited about it, he realized, walking to Sansa’s. He’d never had a pet of any kind growing up, but he remembered wanting a dog when he was younger. He’d see young boys in commercials, TV shows, and movies who were all alone, but they had their dog. He thought they looked so happy that that’s what he needed to be happy. A puppy, a dog, something loyal that wouldn’t leave him.

He didn’t think he _needed_ a puppy so much anymore—he’d grown used to being lonely. But he wanted him. Wanted to save him from being sent to the shelter, from being put down. He almost felt proud of himself— _no, no, it isn’t pride_ , he thought.

It was a sense of fulfillment, in being able to give something a loving home.

Jon thought again of a future with Sansa, where they create a loving home and fill it with children. Except this time the children aren’t all his and Sansa’s, this time some of the children were ones who were named _Snow_ or _Frost_ or _Stone_ , but they were able to give a home to, to save from growing up the way he did.

Jon had to push that thought from his mind though. He couldn’t think about that—couldn’t ask Sansa how she felt about adoption in addition to having some of their own. He couldn’t ask that while Catelyn still didn’t approve of him.

* * *

 

Sansa and Arya met him on the front walk, all three puppies on makeshift leashes.

“We thought we’d take them with, so we can get paperwork or whatever filled out,” Sansa explained. Jon saw Arya roll her eyes at the mention of paperwork but he was impressed Sansa had thought if it. He hadn’t. “Have you thought of a name for him yet?” she asked, passing him the leash for the white puppy. For _his_ puppy.

“Erm, no. Not yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something great,” she murmured, leading him and Arya over to the car parked by the garage. “Here, put these down on the seats,” she instructed, pulling towels out of the bag she carried. Arya huffed but complied. Jon couldn’t believe how well prepared Sansa was. It was as if she always thought of everything.

While they drove the short distance, Arya kept up a steady list of possible names he could name his puppy, but none of them seemed right. He didn’t realize what a responsibility it was to name an animal.

“Well, it can’t be any worse than _Lady_. It’s hardly a good name for a puppy,” Arya quipped.

“Oh, and _Nymeria_ is?”

“She was a warrior queen.”

“I’d bet she was a lady before she was a queen,” Sansa commented, and Jon just caught the slight smirk Arya gave in the mirror. He was pretty sure Sansa was right and Arya knew it too.

At the shop, Sansa headed straight for the bedding and leashes with Lady while Arya went for the toys with Nymeria. Jon stood with his nameless pup at the front of the store, wondering what he was getting himself into.

Sansa came back and found him a few minutes later, after she must’ve realized he hadn’t moved.

“C’mon.” She grabbed his hand that didn’t hold the leash and pulled him into further the store.

In the end, Sansa ended up helping him pick out a bed, a leash, a collar, a travel crate, food and water dishes in addition to food and other essentials. She had a cart full of stuff for Lady as well, and a cart of necessities for Arya, given that she hadn’t returned from the toy aisle yet.

At the front counter, Sansa started filling out paperwork for Lady while he stared blankly at the form. He still hadn’t thought of a name for the pup.

“He’s quiet, like you are sometimes,” Sansa said, looking up from the paper. “Maybe you could name him Shadow.”

“Or Ghost,” he muttered, looking at the white pup. Ghost fit better than Shadow, given that he was white.

“Ghost,” Sansa said slowly. “I like it.”

“What about you? D’you like it?” he asked, crouching down to the pup, who sniffed his hand in response. “Ghost it is then.”

“You’ve got a name for him then?” Arya asked, coming around with Nymeria trailing behind her and her arms full of dog toys.

“Yeah. Ghost.”

“Still better than _Lady_ ,” she muttered and Sansa lightly swatted her arm. Jon looked on, thinking there was tension between them, but both sisters looked far more at ease around each other than they had back when he met them both in Winterfell. It was like they finally found a commonality.

* * *

 

“Do you mind if we drop this off at Jon’s first, before going back?” Sansa asked, looking to Arya in the mirror.

“Nope.”

When they arrived at his building, Jon had half thought they were literally going to drop everything off, but as soon as they were in his apartment, Sansa started putting all of Ghost’s stuff away. She found a place for everything, knowing exactly where he had room for the dog food and the best place for the bed.

He and Arya just stood and watched while Sansa turned his apartment into a home for Ghost.

“Is that the map she made you?” Arya asked, pointing at it.

“Yeah, it is.”

“It’s really good,” she murmured, leaning closer to it. “She made that for you when you were Robb’s friend,” Arya said, low enough that Sansa wouldn’t be able to hear from the other room, where she was putting stuff away. “Sansa said you’re worried about Mum.”

“I—I’m not—” Arya cut him off with a look.

“Don’t be. Sansa doesn’t fight often, for anything. But she’s fighting for you.” Jon opened his mouth, but he didn’t say what he was thinking.

_That’s what I’m afraid of._

“All right. Ghost’s all set. Do you wanna come back with us?” Sansa asked, leading Lady from his bedroom. He looked at them, Sansa and Arya, with Lady and Nymeria both sat at their feet. He didn’t want to go back to Sansa’s, not while Catelyn was still there. Not while he didn’t really know what she thought of him.

“I’ll stay here. Wanna get Ghost settled in and all that.”

“All right. Arya, I’ll meet you by the car?” Arya looked confused briefly before she scowled.

“Gross, all right, I’m leaving. C’mon, Nymeria.” Jon watched Sansa’s face as her sister left, thinking maybe it would shift and give him any inclination of what she was thinking, or of what Catelyn said. When she turned after the door shut though, she just looked soft.

“I’ll come by later, all right?” She ran a hand through his hair, bringing it to rest on his jaw. He let himself lean into it, needing her touch for reasons he couldn’t understand. Jon nodded, still pressing his face to her hand. She pulled him forward then, kissing him.

This wasn’t their normal goodbye kiss though, the quick peck that said _see you later_. This was something else. Sansa was kissing him with a gentle desperation that terrified him, but it made him kiss back like a starved man. He gathered her in his arms, not caring if Arya was waiting for her downstairs.

Sansa tugged at his hair, kissing back with just as much ferocity, but then she was breaking away with a small sigh.

“Later,” she whispered, her hand clutching the material above his heart.

“Later,” he agreed, slightly dazed. She leaned in to kiss him again, this time pulling away before it could turn into anything more than an innocent peck.

Jon was still rooted to where he stood as Sansa gathered Lady, waved, and shut the door behind her. He watched the door latch, wishing it were already later.

He stood there until something started tugging at his pants. He looked down, forgetting that he had Ghost now.

“She’ll be back,” he said to Ghost, crouching down to pet him. 

* * *

 

Jon’s intercom buzzed while he was brushing his teeth, with Ghost watching him from the living room. He spit before rinsing the brush and turning to Ghost.

“Told you she’d be back.”

He ran down to meet her, half expecting her to have Lady at her side. He was surprised to see it was just her with her overnight bag.

“How’s Ghost doing?” she asked, following him up the stairs.

“Good, I think? I’m not sure how it all works, really. I’ve never had a pet,” he admitted. He felt Sansa’s glance, but she didn’t say anything.

“I’m sure you’ll be great at it.” Jon had no idea where her constant support of him came from. _I’m sure you’ll be great at it. I’m sure you’ll think of something great_. That was today alone. He was surprised every time she said something like that. He’d never had anyone believe in him the way she seemed to.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, unsure of how else to respond.

“Hi Ghost,” Sansa cooed, as soon as he met them at the door. “How’s you’re new home? You’ve got a good one, you know.” Jon had to push more thoughts from his mind at her words. It was just too similar to what he’d been thinking earlier.

“How’s Lady doing? And Nymeria? I half thought you’d bring Lady with you.”

“No, Arya’s with her. She’d trying to teach them tricks and I didn’t wanna stop them.” Sansa stood, stepping closer to him. “So….” she said, voice low and slow, fingers trailing up his chest. “Where were we?” Jon couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at his mouth, seeing the glint in her eyes.

Jon lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist, and walking her to his bedroom, her giggling filling the apartment.

Her laughter stopped when he laid her on the bed. Instead, she stared up at him with serious eyes. It was enough to make his heart thud. She was kissing him before he could confess anything stupid though, and he was thankful.

This was somewhere between what happened between them when she met him at the shop and what usually happened. It wasn’t as primal or raw, but it wasn’t as soft and gentle either.

Sansa yanked him closer with his shirt before pulling it off of him, yanking his hair down from its knot in the process. She flipped them then, surprising Jon, but he found this confident Sansa attractive as hell.

Straddling his hips, she tugged off her own shirt, shrugging out of her bra only seconds later. She leaned down, kissing him, but quickly moving to his neck and collarbones and chest.

“Seven hells, you can tear me apart,” he panted, eyes closed, as her lips went lower. He felt her lips leave him then and he squinted an eye open, looking at her. The smirk she had would’ve been terrifying on anyone else, but on Sansa it made his blood rush and heart nearly burst.

Still smirking, she quickly unfastened his pants, and he helped kick them off. She started mouthing at him through his boxers and Jon had to flex every muscle in his body to keep his hips from thrusting upwards.

She took her sweet time kissing and licking, fingers gently tracing, first through the cotton of his boxers, then without the barrier. Jon thought he was going to come so many times but every time Sansa slowed down just enough that he was able to stave it off a little longer.

Just after another wave retreated before breaking, Sansa pulled away, looking at him, face red.

“Can we try something new?”

“Anything,” he panted with the little breath he had.

“Can we try me doing…that…to you, while you…do it to me?” she asked, voice gentle, a stark contrast from the smirk she’d been wearing for the past ten minutes. Jon thought he’d misheard her. He must have.

“Me coming down on you….while you come down on me?” he clarified, nearly choking on the words. She nodded. “Hell, yes. Come ’ere.” He kissed her deeply, one hand going for her hair and the other running up her side until goosebumps rose in his wake.

While he kissed her, Sansa started rolling down her leggings and underwear.

“How…?” she started, breaking away. Jon slid down on the bed, and motioned for her to climb on top of him. Hesitantly, she swung her leg over his face and Jon had to restrain himself from immediately touching her.

He waited while she adjusted, leaning down until she was able to kiss and bite at his hips again.

Once he was sure she was settled, he brought her hips back a little farther, kissing her inner thighs and the creases connecting her thighs and hips. She hummed around him and Jon didn’t think he’d be able to last long at all.

Wanting her to orgasm before he did, he flicked his tongue against her, moving in circles the way her tongue had circled him.

Jon tried to block out the sensations of her mouth on him, and focus on her, but every time he did something to bring her closer to orgasm, she would moan and the vibration would bring him closer too.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to last longer, he slid his hands up from her thighs, across her stomach and chest, until he reached her nipples. She groaned again, pushing her hips back against him.

Jon tried to match his pace with Sansa’s, but every time he did she would speed up again, his orgasm rising.

Abandoning all finesse, Jon went for speed, moving his tongue in the way that made her stop moving all together, her back arching, and her hands clutching his thighs so tight it might’ve hurt, but he couldn’t feel anything but pleasure and Sansa.

Still panting, Sansa swung her legs off him, moving around to the position she’d been in before, and continuing at a much faster pace, her tongue licking down him every time she bobbed down.

“Sansa, I—” Jon started, but Sansa moaned again around him and he was strung tight as his orgasm pulsed through him.

“I think I like that position,” she muttered, reaching for a tissue.

“I think that’s my new favorite,” he groaned, still motionless.

“Good,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss him.

* * *

 

Sansa was wrapped around him, head on his chest, and his arms tight around her back. She must’ve felt his sigh, because she looked up questioningly without him having to say anything.

“Sansa…” he started and her face immediately shifted because of his tone. Jon thought for the first time he was seeing her guard up. “I know you said your mum needs time, but what…?” _What did she say about me?_

“Jon, we don’t need to talk about it. It doesn’t matter. She’ll come around. You’ll see.” He didn’t understand how she could be so sure, so confident.

“I don’t… I don’t want to come between you and your family,” he muttered, finally saying what he’d thought earlier, when Arya said that she was fighting for him.

“You’re not, Jon.” She rose up high enough that she could look him straight on instead of looking up at him from his chest.

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want you to have to fight your mum over this….”

“Jon, you’re not coming between me and my family. Arya and I are getting along for the first time since we were old enough to have opinions and it’s because of _you_. You’re bringing me closer to my family. And Mum won’t be any different. She just needs to take some time to adjust to the fact her oldest daughter has her first serious boyfriend, that’s all,” Sansa assured him. He opened his mouth to reply, but a soft scratching on the door stopped him.

“I nearly forgot about Ghost,” he laughed.

“He’s probably lonely. He’s used to sleeping with his sisters.” Jon knew how that felt—how much larger the bed suddenly felt on nights Sansa didn’t stay over.

“Do you mind if he sleeps with us?”

“Not at all,” Sansa smiled, moving so that Jon could get up. Ghost bounded into the room as soon as he opened the door. Jon scooped him up and set him between him and Sansa on the bed. “Oh, don’t forget about the showcase on Thursday,” Sansa said suddenly, sitting up slightly. “I’ve got a ticket for you already.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Jon assured, leaning over Ghost to kiss her.

“Good. I think you’ll like it.” There was something in her voice, but Jon was too tired to place it. Instead, he linked hands with her in Ghost’s fur, and fell asleep with his new puppy between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a lot of questions about the epilogue for this fic. I do plan on doing a series of post-fic one shots looking at milestones in their relationship. I do have a few planned out, but if there's something specific you want to see, hit me up on tumblr @thewolvescalledmehome and I will try to include it.
> 
> Thanks everyone for your love and support. It means the world to me. <333


	29. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, second to last chapter! I can't believe it!

Margaery dragged Sansa shopping on Wednesday, looking for a new dress for the showcase. Sansa only agreed because it gave her and Margaery time to talk with no one overhearing, and there was something Sansa needed to tell Margaery.

“What about this dress?” Margaery asked, holding up a short green dress. Sansa wrinkled her nose. “They have it in black as well.”

“No, thanks.” Sansa flipped quickly through the hangers, not really sure what she was looking for.

“This one’s pretty.” Margaery held up another dress but Sansa shook her head. Margaery sighed. “This is the third store we’ve been to and you’ve refused to even try on a dress. What’s going on?”

Sansa sighed, still flicking through dresses. She wanted to tell Margaery, that was the whole reason she agreed to getting a new dress, but saying her fear out loud would make it real, and she preferred it as a paranoid thought in the back of her head.

“It’s Jon,” Sansa mumbled, turning away from the rack of dresses.

“And your mum?” Margaery added. Sansa had told her about Catelyn disapproving of the relationship, asking for advice on what to do to make Catelyn see him differently, but Margaery had just said to give it time.

“Indirectly.” Margaery’s eyebrows rose at that. “He said he doesn’t want to come between me and my family.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“Yep.”

“Well… he does seem like the type to fall on his own sword if it meant protecting others,” Margaery allowed. _That’s what I’m afraid of_ , Sansa thought. She was afraid he would sacrifice himself—his feelings for her, if it meant not deepening the riff between her and Catelyn.

“Do you think he’d actually do it? Break up with me so as not to come between me and Mum?” Margaery shrugged.

“You know him best, Sansa.”

“What do I do? Do I tell him don’t be an idiot? Tell him not to do it? What if he’s not even thinking it, until I put the idea in his head?” Sansa felt a flush rising—one that meant tears were soon to follow.

The idea of losing Jon terrified her—and that fact terrified her even more. They’d only been together for a little over a month. How could she feel so strongly for him? They’d only known each other for a handful of months, but it felt like she’d always known him. She couldn’t remember how she spent her time before him. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like after him.

It scared her, how much she loved him, but she wouldn’t let her fear get in the way. She wouldn’t do that to Jon. She may have found it terrifying, but her love for Jon outweighed that fear, even though that was the cause of the fear.

“I wouldn’t say anything yet, not unless he does something stupid. Wait until your mum goes back North. It might go away once she’s not a pressing thought.”

“Maybe,” Sansa sighed, moving to a new rack of dresses.

“Don’t worry about it. That man loves you.”

“He does…but what if that’s the very reason why he would?”

“Then he’s an idiot, Sansa.” Sansa turned, hiding her face. “Put it our of your mind until after this week. You have your first showcase tomorrow. Focus on that. Everything else can wait until after.”

“I know, I know. It’s just hard.”

“Well, let’s get you a pretty dress. That always solves my problems,” Margaery joked, linking her arm through Sansa’s, and steering her towards another rack of dresses. 

* * *

 

Sansa sat on her bed, looking at the dress she bought, fiddling with the snowflake pedant she wore under her bathrobe. She’d spent the previous afternoon and all morning worrying about what to say to Catelyn to make her see Jon the way she did, so much so that she’d forgotten to be anxious about the showcase. Until now.

Everyone was going to see the sketches of Jon she’d submitted. It was like having the inner most contents of her heart laid out for all to witness.

She was all right with Jon seeing them—he knew how much she loved him, and had seen her sketches of him before, but her family was a different story.

She was nervous about what they would say.

_You’re falling for him too fast. Remember this is your first relationship. Don’t get too invested in something so early._

Sansa realized that it was Catelyn’s voice only she imagined saying those things, not her siblings.

She sighed, dropping the snowflake against her chest.

She knew her mother meant well. Catelyn was trying to keep her from getting hurt, was trying to protect her, which was all she’d ever done. She just wished her mother’s way of protecting her wasn’t trying to steer her away from Jon.

“Sansa, come out once you’ve got your dress on! I wanna see it on you!” Margaery called through the door.

Sansa stood, knowing she was behind in getting ready. The only thing she’d done after she showered was blow-dried her hair, even though Catelyn and Arya would be there to pick her up in less than an hour.

“All right,” Sansa called back, moving to pull the dress from its hanger.

She got ready quickly, sliding into the little black dress and pulling her hair into a braid. She was just sitting down to start her makeup when there was a knock on her door.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes, Margaery!”

“Sansa? It’s me, actually.” Sansa dropped her eyeliner to quickly open the door.

“Mum? I’m running a bit late…”

“That’s all right. We’ve come a bit early. I wanted to talk to you.”

“All right, but I’ve gotta finish getting ready.”

“Right, of course.”

Sansa waved her mother in, motioning for her to sit on her bed while she finished putting her makeup on.

“Sansa, I wanted to talk to you about Jon,” Catelyn started. Sansa met her eyes in the mirror.

“Now, Mum? Really?”

“I’m not going to yell at you. I’d like to have a discussion,” Catelyn answered, tone firm. Sansa focused on applying her eyeliner so that she wouldn’t roll her eyes. “How old is Jon?”

“Same age as Robb.”

“And you don’t think he’s too old for you?” Sansa looked at her mother in the mirror again.

“No. Dad’s three years older than you are.”

“I know that, Sansa. It’s just… He’s not who I would’ve picked for you.”

“No? Who would you’ve picked for me, Mum?” Sansa turned around then, completely abandoning her makeup.

“It’s not as though I have someone specific in mind. I just always imagined you with someone…less serious. Someone who smiles and showers you with love and affection. Someone who makes you laugh. Someone bright and colorful. I half expected you to find a Southron boy,” Catelyn admitted softly.

“Jon is those things, though Mum, aside from Southron. He might not be what you thought I’d want, but I promise you, he is all I want.” Sansa turned back to the mirror, picking up her brush.

“I just want you to be happy, Sansa.” Sansa paused, the brush hovering near her eye.

“I _am_ happy,” she murmured, her other hand going to the snowflake. Her eyes flitted briefly to Catelyn’s in the mirror. Her mother looked softened but unconvinced.

“That’s a pretty necklace,” Catelyn commented, changing the subject as Sansa finished her makeup.

“Jon made it for me, for my birthday,” Sansa said pointedly.

“Oh. That was very nice of him.” Sansa couldn’t suppress the small smirk she felt rising at her mother’s attempt at sounding unsurprised.

Sansa thought maybe Catelyn did just need a bit of adjustment time after all.

* * *

 

Sansa was doing her best to swallow her nerves, but standing in the lobby of the gallery, waiting for Jon and Robb to arrive, she found herself playing with the snowflake again, drawing strength from it until Jon could be at her side.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just meet them inside?” Catelyn asked. Sansa continued staring at the entrance.

“No, he texted. They’re just parking.” Arya sighed impatiently beside her, but Sansa ignored it.

Catelyn had forced Arya into dressier clothes—something other than jeans and a hoodie, and Sansa knew Arya was eager to change back into something she was comfortable in.

“We’ll only be here for an hour or two, I prom—” Sansa stopped, turning fully towards the door. Robb had just walked in, with Jon behind him and her breath stopped.

He must’ve borrowed dress clothes from Robb, as he was in dress pants, a white shirt, and a suit coat. His hair was bound like it was when he worked, and Sansa never thought he looked so beautiful.

Sansa didn’t realize she was rushing to meet him until she was already in front of him.

“Jon, hi, you look—” Sansa paused, too consumed looking at him to continue. His cheeks colored and Sansa leaned forward to kiss him.

“I look all right? It’s Robb’s.”

“Stunning,” Sansa answered.

“These are for you,” he offered quietly, holding up a small bouquet of wildflowers.

“Oh, thank you, Jon! They’re beautiful.” She pulled out one of the small yellow and white flowers, twisting it into the end of her braid. He colored again, eyes going towards the floor. “I’m glad you came,” she whispered, leaning closer.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he murmured back, kissing the hair above her ear before reaching for her hand.

“Jon, Robb. You both look very nice,” Catelyn said, sounding formal but pleasant. Sansa took it as a step in the right direction.

“T-thank you,” Jon stuttered, looking surprised. Sansa squeezed his hand.

“Shall we go in?” Catelyn suggested, waving them forward. Sansa nodded, pulling Jon forward with her.

Sansa didn’t immediately go to her wall. She knew what was there already. She wanted to see what her classmates submitted first. She planned to work her way around the room, getting to her wall only when it came up.

Robb and Catelyn immediately wandered off, looking at some of the pieces on the other side of the room from where she started. Arya trailed behind her and Jon, but looked confused when she saw the wall.

“This doesn’t look like your work,” she commented. She was right. This person’s work had much sharper and darker lines, everything looking more geometric than anything she’d ever done.

“It’s not. My work’s down that way,” Sansa said, indicating generally to the other end of the gallery.

“Oh. Right. Well, I’m going to go find it,” Arya declared before moving away, leaving her and Jon.

“You don’t want to go look at your own work?” Jon asked. Sansa shrugged, shaking her head.

“I spent far too long staring at it. I’d like to see what everyone else’s done. You can go see it, if you’d like. You can probably catch Arya.”

“I’ll stay with you.” Sansa leaned over kissing his cheek softly.

They worked their way slowly around the walls, looking at her classmates’ art. At some point, a group of girls she was friendly with from class came up to chat with her. Jon looked bored of their conversation after only a few minutes, so Sansa flagged Arya and got her to drag him to explore with her.

Part of her hoped Arya would take him to her wall. She didn’t want him to have to guard his emotions if she was around.

Part of her wanted Arya to see it with him, and not her. She thought he might be able to be more open with her. She knew they had some type of connection she didn’t understand—Arya had immediately seen Jon, heard his name, and knew what it meant. She thought Arya might even understand Jon better than she did, and she might understand his reaction to the art better than she could.

When the group of classmates moved on to talk to someone else who had just arrived, Sansa went to find Jon.

To her surprise, he was talking to her professor.

“Professor, hi. I see you’ve met my boyfriend, Jon.”

“Yes. I’ve been trying to persuade him to model for our class, but he says you’re the only artist he’d model for.” Sansa glanced at him in time to see his face flare red. “I must say, art is always more intimate when the there is love between the artist and the muse. I think your work illustrates that clearly. Well done, Sansa. I expect great things from you. See you in class next week. Nice to meet you, Jon.” Her professor shook Jon’s hand before flitting off to another student.

“See, I told you you’d be a good model,” Sansa laughed, nudging him with her elbow.

“Sansa, I saw your wall…” he started slowly, his voice gravel.

“Jon, you don’t—” Sansa reached a hand to his face, loving how he couldn’t help but lean into slightly.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful. No… no one’s ever seen me the way you seem to,” he whispered, leaning closer.

“Jon, I just draw what I see. I just see you,” Sansa shrugged.

“Exactly. No one else has seen me. They all just see a Snow.”

“You are so much more than that, Jon,” she whispered fiercely, leaning forward to kiss him, not giving a single damn that they were in public.

“I know that now,” he assured her, leaning his forehead against hers. “Because of you.” Sansa wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder.

She wished she could tell him _I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being the first person to show you that._ But that wasn’t what he needed to hear. She knew that. All that mattered was that someone had showed him at some point.

Jon took her by the hand, quietly leading her back to her wall. He pointed at one of the sketches—the one she’d done of them holding hands, his hands stained with grease and hers smeared with charcoal.

“That one’s my favorite,” he murmured.

“I thought you might like that one. That one’s my favorite though,” she said, pointing to one of the ones higher on the wall. It was that smile—the one she had waited all day to draw that day in Winterfell. The one she saw more often now. He leaned against her, resting his head against hers.

“Oh my,” she heard. Sansa turned to see Catelyn standing behind them.

“I’m going to go find Arya and Robb,” Jon muttered, kissing her cheek before letting go of her hand. Catelyn stepped up next to her, staring at the wall of her art—her love letter to Jon, really.

“I couldn’t draw him that way if I didn’t love him, Mum,” Sansa said.

“Sansa, I don’t doubt that you love him.”

“You doubt that he loves me?” she asked, disbelieving. How could anyone think of Jon as anything other than genuine? How could anyone doubt it, when it was so clearly written in his eyes?

“No, Sansa. I don’t doubt that he loves you either.”

“Then why can’t you support us?” Sansa sighed, turning to face her mother. Catelyn didn’t turn to her though. She was still studying the wall.

“This one,” Catelyn said instead, pointing to Sansa’s favorite. “What was happening when you drew this one?”

“Erm. I drew a version of it at Winterfell, right after we all just came home. I had to wait all day before he smiled like that. It took me making fun of Robb to get it. But that one was from right after we started dating. I called cute or adorable or something stupid and he smiled like that.” Catelyn nodded.

“I haven’t seen him smile like that,” she said quietly.

“He does it more often now, than he did in Winterfell. It took a while to break in,” Sansa admitted, hoping Jon would be all right with her sharing that, if it meant Catelyn understand them—understanding them.

“But he smiles like that around you.”

“He does.”

“And you have no concer—”

“Mum!”

“No concerns about rushing into something so serious so fast, so young?” Catelyn continued, ignoring Sansa’s interjection.

“I’d rather have my heart broken by Jon than never be hurt at all,” Sansa confessed. Catelyn sighed deeply next to her.

“Does he make you laugh at least?”

Sansa turned away from her mother and the wall, finding Jon standing with Arya on the other side of the gallery.

She thought of New Year’s, and how it hadn’t been that cold because they were laughing. She thought of the times they went to The Crooked Mane together, before they started dating. She thought of their first date, when they played laser tag and she hadn’t been able to catch her breath from laughing so hard. She thought of all the moments after, when he’d made her laugh. She thought of the other night, when he’d hoisted her into the air and carried her to bed, her laughter filling his apartment.

“Yes. Yes, he makes me laugh.” Catelyn turned, and Sansa caught her looking at Jon, her features softening.

“I suppose that’s all I really wanted for you.” Catelyn reached out then, adjusting the flower Sansa had put in her braid. “He must be something special, Jon.”

Jon must’ve been able to feel them looking at him, because his eyes met hers over Arya’s head. Sansa continued to hold them as she answered her mother.

“He is, Mum. He really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be the showcase from Jon's PoV, so there will be some overlap.
> 
> Again, if you have any requests for post-fic one shots, come hit me up @thewolvescalledmehome on tumblr. I am more than happy to write as many as I have ideas/requests for.


	30. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this is it. The last chapter.

Jon had to keep shooing Ghost away from his black dress pants. He hadn’t realized the potential problems in owning almost entirely black clothes and a white puppy. Ghost shed _everywhere._ He knew Lady had to shed as much as Ghost did, but somehow Sansa was never covered in dog hair.

He was anxious enough as it was and he didn’t really want to show up to Sansa’s showcase covered in Ghost’s fur.

Jon knew the showcase wasn’t going to be as formal or stuffy as going to gallery opening—it was for undergrad university students after all. But it was still probably one of the most formal events he’d been to, aside from his graduation from undergrad.

Plus, Sansa’s family would be there, or really, Catelyn would be there. Jon still didn’t know exactly what she said, but he wanted to prove her wrong—whatever it was she thought of him.

He just didn’t really know how to do that when he didn’t know what he was trying to prove wrong.

He knew if he asked Sansa, or even Robb or Arya, they would all just say to be himself and Catelyn would come around eventually. Sansa had already said something of that nature, every time he asked what Catelyn had said.

Jon thought maybe if he proved how much he loved Sansa—proved that he would never hurt her—maybe Catelyn would understand.

_I’ll be over in a few minutes. I’ve got suit jacket for you too._

Jon read the text from Robb, wishing he didn’t have to borrow a suit jacket from him, but he’d rather have a borrowed one than show up without one.

“All right, Ghost. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He stooped to scratch the puppy’s head, careful to keep his black pants hairless. The puppy stared back at him. Jon sighed, wishing he could take Ghost with. He liked having Ghost with him—it was like having Sansa with him even when she wasn’t. It was like having a bit of the North with him.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed it, spending five years in the South, until he spent time with the Starks, in their cottage. He never had a home; the North had been the closest thing he had, until Sansa. And he thought maybe, once they were both done with school, they could return North; he could return to the only home he’d known with the first person to give him a home.

Downstairs, Jon paced the sidewalk, waiting for Robb to arrive. As he paced, he saw the first signs of spring. In an empty lot near his building, a small group of wildflowers already were blooming.

Thinking of the flowers Sansa gave him, Jon picked a small handful. They weren’t near as vibrant or as beautiful as the ones she gave him, but they were lovely all the same.

He was looking to see if there were any more hidden in the lot when he heard Robb pull up.

“Ready?” Robb called.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon muttered, picking one more flower before heading over to the car.

“Jacket’s in the back. Are those for Sansa?” he asked, tilting his head to the flowers Jon held. He nodded.

“She’ll love ‘em.”

“I hope so,” Jon muttered.

Jon texted Sansa when they pulled into the parking lot. He and Robb were running a little later than he would’ve liked. He didn’t want Sansa—or Catelyn, for that matter—thinking he wasn’t going to show up or that he’d be late.

“What’d you think Sansa submitted for this?” Robb asked as they walked over. Jon shrugged. He had no idea. Sansa hadn’t told him what she was sending in, or anything about it other than the time and place. He half hoped that maybe she submitted something she’d done in his apartment. He thought that then he’d have a bit of claim, of connection, to her work. He’d know something about it that no one else did.

He saw Sansa as soon as he walked in behind Robb, standing at the top of a small flight of stairs, eyes trained on the door. She was breathtaking and Jon felt butterflies swarm his stomach.

She was in front of him before he realized that she moved, her eyes running the length of his body.

“Jon, hi, you look—” She stopped, her eyes still devouring him. Jon couldn’t help but blush at the love, warmth, and passion in her eyes. He was still blushing even after she kissed him.

“I look all right? It’s Robb’s.” He thought the jacket was a little long—Robb was slightly taller than him. He thought it was obvious he was wearing someone else’s jacket, but the way Sansa was looking at him made him not care.

“Stunning,” she assured him.

“These are for you,” Jon offered hesitantly, handing her the wildflowers he picked.

“Oh, thank you, Jon! They’re beautiful!” Her smile lit up her face, and Jon thought it brightened the whole room. She pulled out one of the flowers and twisted it into the end of her hair. She smiled at him again and Jon felt himself blushing again, though he couldn’t tell why. “I’m glad you came,” Sansa whispered, leaning close enough that their fronts were flushed.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he murmured, pulling her closing and kissing the side of her head.

He realized the rest of her family was waiting for him then, and he quickly took her hand, not wanting to keep them waiting any longer.

“Jon, Robb. You both look very nice,” Catelyn said. Jon’s adrenaline spiked, suddenly nervous, but there was a kindness in her tone Jon couldn’t remember hearing before and his heart started to calm down again.

“T-thank you,” he stuttered, struggling for a second to form his voice. He felt Sansa squeeze his hand and he felt home.

“Shall we go in?”

Jon allowed himself to be pulled forward by Sansa, into the gallery.

Jon heard Robb comment about something on the wall on the other side and he heard Catelyn follow him. Sansa stopped in front of the first piece, appearing to study it. He heard Arya sigh behind him.

“This doesn’t look like your work,” Arya commented. Jon looked at what was on the wall then—he’d been watching Sansa’s reaction and hadn’t even looked at the art yet. Arya was right. This looked harsh, angry. It looked nothing like the soft, gentle pieces he’d seen Sansa do.

“It’s not. My work’s down that way,” Sansa said, not taking her eyes off the piece.

“Oh. Right. Well, I’m going to go find it.”

“You don’t want to go look at your own work?” he asked her, turning to face her again. Sansa shrugged.

“I spent far too long staring at it. I’d like to see what everyone else’s done. You can go see it, if you’d like. You can probably catch Arya.”

“I’ll stay with you,” he said quietly, causing Sansa to lean forward and kiss his cheek.

He did want to see what she submitted, but he didn’t want to wander around alone, or even with Arya. This was Sansa’s big night and he wanted to stay by her side.

He stood beside her as she slowly studied the pieces of art on the walls. He wasn’t as interested in the art; he really just wanted to see Sansa’s, but he liked watching her face as she saw each piece. She would explain bits about each of them to him, telling him why it was particularly beautiful, moving, or jarring. He heard everything she said, but mostly he was just listening to her voice, how it rose and fell with her accent, and how fast she’d speak when she got excited about something.

They were standing in front a large sketch of a naked woman—Sansa said it was the model from class—when a group of girls came up, each hugging Sansa. She introduced them as friends from class, and Jon felt butterflies again when she introduced him as her boyfriend. He didn’t think he’d get used to it—being claimed by her. It was almost embarrassing how much he loved it.

Jon tried to pay attention to their conversation, but it involved a lot of technical terms he didn’t understand, so he focused again on Sansa, listening to her voice, her laugh, and how warm he felt.

“C’mon, Jon,” Arya muttered rather suddenly, seemingly appearing from nowhere.

“It’s all right. Go with Arya,” Sansa whispered, releasing his hand.

“I want to show you something,” Arya told him as she dragged him away. “This is Sansa’s wall,” she said, stopping short in front of a stretch of wall with nine framed sketches on it.

The one in the center caught Jon’s attention first. It was a pair of hands entwined, both darkened with something that looked like grease or paint or… _charcoal_ , Jon realized.

His eyes skipped quickly from frame to frame, adrenaline spiking again, because the sketches were all of him.

There was the one of them holding hands. There was one of his hands holding a pen, poised over a textbook. There was one of his hands working on a car, one she must’ve drawn when she hung out at the shop with him

There was one of his eyes—he thought it was from the picture he had as his background, when Sansa had kissed his cheek and Sansa had managed to capture that look of surprise in his eyes. There was one of him with his eyes closed, he must’ve been sleeping, his face looked so peaceful. And there was another of his eyes, and he had to have been looking at Sansa because she drew his eyes the same way he saw her looking at him.

There were three of his mouth as well. One of him kissing Sansa’s cheek, one of him just barely smiling, one corner of his mouth just higher than the other. The last one was him smiling, actually smiling, the one Sansa had told him she’d drawn, on New Year’s.

The sketches swam in front of Jon, and he felt his knees go weak.

He wanted to reach out, touch one of them, and prove that it was real, that he was actually seeing it, but he knew he couldn’t.

“Jon? Are you all right? You don’t look like you’re breathing.” Arya sounded as though she was far away, speaking to him while he was underwater. “Jon?”

“It’s… I…”

“I know. She’s a little dramatic, isn’t she?”

Jon couldn’t tear his eyes away from the wall, from her art, especially the one of them holding hands.

He thought of every time he had stopped himself from touching her because his hands were dirty with work and how she finally grabbed his hand, not letting him pull away, not caring if her hands got dirty too.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what Sansa had done.

She had publically and formally declared her love for him.

He knew she loved him, but this was different. This was… Seven hells, he didn’t even know what this was, but he knew it was special. This was something important, something grander than a university romance.

It should’ve terrified Jon, but it didn’t. It made him feel unabashed about all those thoughts he had, about him and Sansa having a future. It made him hope that Sansa might’ve had similar thoughts, or would in the future.

“Jon, you’re scaring me. You haven’t said anything,” he heard Arya say, felt her tug on his jacket sleeve.

“I… There’s no words,” he managed at last, voice embarrassingly raw. He felt Arya staring at him and he finally tore his eyes away to glance at her. She nodded, looking like she understood. “I mean, I knew she loved me, but…but this is…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean. I probably looked the same way when Gendry played the song he wrote for me. It’s different. Seeing it, than being told it, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

* * *

 

Jon continued to stare at the wall, long after Arya left his side.

He just couldn’t get his mind wrapped around it. He had hoped for something so small, for one of her pieces to have been drawn at his apartment, but instead she gave him something he hadn’t dreamed to hope for.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” a voice beside him asked, jarring him from his reverie.

“She’s amazing,” he breathed. The person beside him chuckled softly.

“Ah. You must be the muse. Yes, yes, I see it. The eyes, the mouth. Sansa’s boyfriend?” Jon nodded.

“Jon Snow,” he said, offering his hand.

“I’m Sansa’s professor. I hoped to meet you. I wanted to see the man to inspire such art in person.” Jon was sure he was blushing again. “She’s good, Sansa. But these?” she said, pointing to the wall of her sketches. “These are far better than what she does for class. It might be because she’s drawing a beautiful man and not a beautiful woman, but it also might be because she’s drawing _you_.”

“I…erm, thanks?”

“I won’t be able to convince you to come model for my class, would I?” Jon chuckled, ducking his head away from her gaze. The professor turned then, indicating that he should walk with her.

“No, no, sorry. Sansa’s the only artist I’ll pose for,” he said, still flushed. Just thinking of having someone else draw him made him feel awkward—as if he was being unfaithful.

“Well, I’ve got to give you credit for that. I’d be interested to see what else she does of you, in the future.”

“Yeah, yeah. I would too.” He felt a soft touch one his arm then, and Sansa’s fingers tangled with his.

“Professor, hi. I see you’ve met my boyfriend, Jon.” Jon’s heart leapt at being called her boyfriend again.

“Yes. I’ve been trying to persuade him to model for our class, but he says you’re the only artist he’d model for.” Jon hadn’t expected his words to be repeated to Sansa and he found himself coloring again. “I must say, art is always more intimate when there is love between the artist and the muse. I think your work illustrates that clearly. Well done, Sansa. I expect great things from you. See you in class next week. Nice to meet you, Jon.” Jon’s head was still reeling from the professor’s comments and he shook her hand numbly, barely focused.

“See, I told you you’d be a good model,” Sansa laughed, elbowing him. Jon took a deep breath.

“Sansa, I saw your wall…” His voice was raw again, like when he saw the wall with Arya, and he cleared his throat, hoping that it returned to normal.

“Jon, you don’t—” Sansa trailed off, her eyes soft on his face. She reached up a hand, cradling his jaw. Jon leaned into it, unable to deny himself more contact with her.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful. No… no one’s ever seen me the way you seem to,” Jon whispered, looking at the flower in her hair and not her face because he was sure his eyes were giving everything away.

“Jon, I just draw what I see. I just see you.”

“Exactly no one else has seen _me_. They all just see a Snow,” he admitted, allowing his eyes to go higher, but they stopped when he saw her necklace—the snowflake pendent. He hadn’t seen her without it since he’d given it to her.

“You are so much more than that, Jon,” he heard her whisper, and then she was kissing him. Jon wrapped his arms around her, nearly lifting her off the ground. He wished that they weren’t in public—that he could kiss her and hold her the way he wanted to.

He broke the kiss before they could draw attention.

“I know that know.” Jon leaned his forehead against hers, still needing to be close. “Because of you.” He felt Sansa’s arms around him then, and her head on his shoulder. He wound his arms around her waist, bringing her closer. He would settle for this until they were home.

When he felt her arms start to loosen, Jon took her by the hand and brought her back to her wall, pointing to the one of them holding hands, just as they were then.

“That one’s my favorite,” he told her, even though he wanted to say _You don’t know what that means to me._ The fact she’d drawn his hands, as they were a majority of the time, and matched her own with charcoal. The fact that she was showing they weren’t as different as he once thought.

“I thought you might like that one. That one’s my favorite though,” she said, pointing to the one of him smiling. He felt his face forming that smile then, and he leaned his head against hers, trying to hide at least part of the stupid, giddy face he was probably making.

“Oh my.” Jon had to fight not to immediately stiffen, even as Sansa turned.

“I’m going to go find Arya and Robb,” he muttered, kissing her cheek quickly before retreating to a different part of the gallery.

He didn’t want to be there to hear what Catelyn would say about the sketches. He was happy—thrilled, nearly overwhelmed with what the sketches meant to him and he didn’t want them tainted by anything other than a positive interaction.

Jon found Arya and Robb in the very back, where there was apparently a refreshments table.

“Is this where you two’ve been hiding?” he asked. Robb passed him a glass of wine in response. He noticed that Arya had one to. She must’ve seen him looking at it because she pulled it closer to her, as if to conceal it.

“Robb got it for me. Don’t tell Mum or Sansa.”

“Sure,” Jon laughed.

“Where is Sansa, anyway?” Robb asked.

“With your mum.”

“Ah.”

“Mhm,” Jon muttered into his wine glass.

“Are you coming back for summer break with Robb and Sansa?” Arya asked suddenly, and Jon nearly choked on his wine. Back in December, he would’ve looked to Robb for an answer—hell, even two months ago, he would’ve looked to Robb. Now he was wishing Sansa was there to look to.

“I…erm. I dunno. We haven’t talked about it yet.”

“Well, you should. Then Ghost and Lady and Nymeria can all be together again. And you can teach me more fencing moves. Plus, then we can all go camping or something together. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Arya asked, voice growing louder in excitement. “OH. And then you’d be there for my birthday. I turn eighteen in June and Robb won’t have to sneak me drinks anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah. That would be fun. We’ll see. I have to talk to Sansa. And my boss. I dunno how he’d feel about me disappearing for three months.”

Arya nodded, but continued talking as if those were trivial matters that could be easily dealt with.

He wondered if she knew how much he would love to spend the summer with them. He never had somewhere to go back to for the summer. During undergrad, when the dorms closed, he had rented an apartment for the summers with Ygritte, and then he just rented an apartment on his own.

The idea of spending the summer with the Starks in Winterfell was as new and exciting as spending the holidays with them was five months ago, when Robb told him he was spending break with his family.

They’d been friends for only a semester, but the moment Jon said that he didn’t have anywhere to go for the holidays, Robb immediately said he was coming with him, no questions. Jon had never even thought to hope for half of what he gained by going to Winterfell.

“I don’t think I could come her for university,” Arya said, changing the subject and bringing Jon back to the present.

“No?”

“No. It’s too warm and too big. There’s still snow in Winterfell right now, but there’re already flowers blooming here. I like the North better.”

“Me too,” Jon admitted.

“Which is why you should come home for summer vacation!” Arya told him. Jon wondered if she caught what she said.

 _Which is why you should come **home** for summer vacation_.

* * *

 

It was near the end of the evening when Jon returned to Sansa’s wall, one past time, before they left. He was surprised to see Catelyn standing in front of it.

Jon wanted to turn, to run, to wait until she left to go have one last look at it, but he steeled himself, being brave for Sansa, and walked up next to her.

“Mrs. Stark, I love your daugh—” he started, words tumbling over each other to all get out.

“Jon.” She held up a hand, stopping him. “Sansa says you make her laugh.” Jon’s chest was all but heaving with the words he hadn’t managed to get out. It took him a second to register her question, and even then he was confused.

“I try to,” he admitted honestly, still confused. She smiled at him, a small and tired smile, but still a smile.

“She says you make her happy.” Again, Jon was confused at where this conversation was going.

“I hope I make her half as happy as she makes me.”

“Seven save me, you sound like Ned when we first met,” she muttered. Jon wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a compliment or not, but he took it as one either way. She sighed then, turning back towards the wall. “As long she’s happy. That’s all that matters to me,” Catelyn told him and Jon thought that was her way of accepting him.

“That’s all that matters to me, too,” Jon said quietly, watching Catelyn’s profile. She looked down, smiling, nodding just slightly. She turned, and Jon thought the conversation was over. He hoped it made a difference. He thought it might have.

“Jon?” Catelyn called, only a few steps away. “Please call me Catelyn.” Jon nodded, unable to respond verbally. She nodded, smiling just a little again, before walking away.

* * *

 

“I think Mum’s coming around,” Sansa murmured later that night. They were in her bed, with Ghost and Lady lying on the foot.

“She told me to call her Catelyn,” Jon responded, not looking up from the circles he was tracing on Sansa’s bare back. Her head whipped around so that she could see his face.

“She did? When?”

“Before we left. I went to talk to her.”

“You did? What’d you say?” Jon shrugged, not really wanting to repeat the conversation. “Jon! What’d you say? What’d she say?” She scrambled to sit up, pulling the sheet up around her.

“We both agreed that your happiness is all that matters to either of us,” he admitted, looking at anything but her. “She said I sounded like your dad did when they first met.”

“Jon! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He shrugged again. He was still looking away from her, which meant he didn’t see her lunge up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders with enough force to send him falling backwards on the bed.

“ _Oof_ ,” he grunted. Sansa was laughing, kissing his face.

“See? I told you she just needed time.”

“Mhm,” he grunted, as she continued to cover him in kisses, her giggles filling the room.

* * *

 

**_TWO MONTHS LATER_ **

Jon was on the road to Winterfell again, but this time he wasn’t sitting in the passenger’s seat of Robb’s car. He was driving, with Sansa sitting next to him, and Ghost and Lady taking up the entire back seat. This time there wasn’t snow on the ground or grey clouds hanging low in the sky. The land on either side of the road was green and the sky was bright with no clouds. This time Jon wasn’t filled with anxiety about being a burden. He was excited—Sansa was next to him, singing along to the radio, the windows were down, both of their hair blowing in the wind. He was at peace—he was happy.

Just like when they pulled up in December, there were a rush of Starks from the house, not bothering to wait until they were inside to greet them.

Arya was out first, hugging him tightly. The younger Stark boys followed, hugging Sansa then him quickly.

It was when Ned and Catelyn came out that he felt anything similar to the first time he stood in the driveway. Ned hugged him first, gruffly, with a hardback pat. He didn’t say anything, but Jon took it as approval of his and Sansa’s relationship.

When Ned moved on to hug Sansa, Catelyn stood before him, and he looked around awkwardly.

The last thing he expected was for Catelyn to pull him into a hug. It was short and a little awkward, but it was a hug from a mother and Jon couldn’t remember the last time he felt that. She released him, backing away to hug Sansa and Arya popped back up in her place, leaping onto his back. He laughed, hooking his arms around her legs.

Then she said the words he’d longed to hear his entire life.

“Welcome home, Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this story since January of 2016--a year and a half. I've taken breaks from it, I've spent hours working on it. This is the first piece of fan fiction I'd ever started, so thank each and every one of you for your love and support. I love you all.
> 
> And remember, if you have a specific post-fic scene you want to see, send me a request on tumblr @thewolvescalledmehome.


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